


The rich, red chambers of a canine heart

by Teland



Series: you and I will walk together again [4]
Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood Drinking, Companionable Snark, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Dogboys & Doggirls, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Families of Choice, First Time, Genital Torture, Ghost Sex, Hair-pulling, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Knotting, M/M, Magic, Marriage, Mild Gore, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Religious Content, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Telepathy, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:00:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She smiles gently down at him. "We must give our loves chances to prove that they are worthy of us, you know." </p><p>Jason inhales sharply — "Or else we will always... doubt." </p><p>Amina inclines her head. "Doubt is *cold*, old brother. Colder, I think, than even I am."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. They need each other.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts), [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts).



> Disclaimers: Not mine, except for what is. 
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: No spoilers, takes place pre-series. 
> 
> Author's Note: Fourth in the [you and I will walk together again](http://archiveofourown.org/series/407409) series. Will *not* make much sense without the others. Do check those out first. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: Much love to Pixie, Melly, Spice, Sergei, and my Jack for audiencing, encouragement, hand-holding, cooing, thrown projectiles, and all the things that make writing fun. Pixie especially stepped in for some well-timed angst-busting.

Treville wakes up wincing — his back is stiff from sleeping in the soft bed here at the manor, and, for approximately the ten thousandth time, he curses himself for not taking the time to have a proper pallet brought in for — 

And then he smells it. 

Smells *her*. 

Smells — 

He turns, and she's there, Amina's *there*, smirking at him *viciously* from across the expanse of pillows and — 

And his heart is in his throat — 

How is this when did she when is this is this a dream — 

"I *told* you to get us a better *bed*, Jean-Armand!" 

"I —" 

"I cannot *move* my *bulk* to get to the *chamberpot*!" 

Bulk — 

He looks down — she's pregnant — 

She's — 

She looks no older — 

He feels no — 

"*Well*? Move your arse and *help* me!" 

He does, he does, and she's in his arms — 

Oh, in his arms — 

He can't stop himself from burying his nose in her *neck* —

She giggles and swats him — "You do that every *morning*!" 

And then he blinks — 

And everything — 

Everything — "You smell this perfect every morning," he says, and rumbles into her sleek, dark skin as he watches her squat — 

"When I *piss*?" 

"That, too," he says. 

She snaps at him, the way she's started to do — 

His half-hard cock jerks for it the way it does every *time* — 

Her eyes *gleam* the way *they've* started to do — 

They're becoming more *like* each other — 

Part and *part* — 

"Jean-*Armand*." 

"Mm?" 

Her stream starts to slow. "*You're* not even going to let me *wipe* before you're *at* me like the big *hound* you are." 

He shows his teeth. 

Her stream *stops* for a moment — she's clenching — 

It starts again — 

It stops.

He *licks* his teeth. "What do *you* think?" 

She's flushing now, hot under the skin, hot for *him* — 

And he remembers their first time — 

He blinks — 

There's a — 

A skip — 

And he has her on the bed and she's growling, growling for him, growling for how damnably soft all the feathers are, growling for his tongue on all her secret places yes, yes, salty, too — 

Fresh — 

*Hot* — 

He growls, too — 

He tastes her and tastes her and licks her clean, licks her wet, licks her wide open until she's leaking slick almost as fast as he can lick it *up*. 

He toys with her pleasure-button, then, lets it build *up* — 

He nuzzles and laps — 

He nuzzles and *kisses*, teases, spells out his entire name and the name he'll give the babe in her belly — 

"Nah — *NAH* — in me!" 

He growls *more* — 

Pulls back — "Tongue or *cock*." 

"*Tongue*!" 

He lets it loll for her first, good and long, lets her see what's she's going to get, lets it drip on her great, round belly — 

She whines and *tries* to arch — 

His knot *throbs* — 

And the first time he'd given her — 

He shudders — 

It's so cold all of a — 

And she's on her side, propped-up just as perfectly as he can manage it, just as *comfortably*, and it isn't the best position for *him* for this, but he still has her arse, her round, tight arse — 

He's never had — 

It's so rich, so musky, so rich — 

So earthy, so — 

His sister, his *kin*, and he shoves *in* with his tongue — 

Shoves in so *deep* — 

She screams — 

She screams and clenches and pants and *moans*, and it's just like every time it was really good for her when she was tossing herself off when they were side by side —

Just like — 

Her sweat and struggle — 

Her musk and *need* — 

He's making it *good* for her — 

He *takes* her with his tongue — 

"Brother! Oh, sweet *brother*!" 

I'm *yours*, he says, and fucks her and fucks her and *fucks* her, and she's sobbing — 

Laughing and sobbing and — 

"Oh — *oh*, so *dirty* —" 

He agrees with a growl, a kiss — 

A better kiss once he can spread her wider, lick out, *suck* a kiss — 

Make her *shriek* — 

Make her *spurt* — 

Oh, good girl, good *girl*, and he won't stop, he won't stop for a *moment*, not until she makes him, not until it's *time*, because there's never enough of this — 

A dog needs to *eat* — 

"Jean — Jean-*Armand*!" 

He *snickers* into her arse —

She clenches tight and bucks — 

He holds her *still* and *forces* his tongue in and in and — 

She *howls* — 

His cock jerks and *spits* slick — 

He pants — 

He sucks kiss after *kiss* — 

Cracks his neck to quiet its complaining and keeps kissing, keeps — 

No, fuck her, he has to fuck her, he has to — 

He kisses her *and* fucks her, anything to ease the *ache* for her in his needy cock, his needy *knot* — 

She *croons* — 

His cock spits slick *again* —

He groans her name into her *arse* — 

She clenches and — "Please, please, please, you must *fuck* me, you must — you must *finally* —" 

What — 

But — 

And the cold wind *rakes* through him — 

His bed is *empty* — 

His body is twisted on sweaty sheets — 

Skip — 

He's in her, *in* her, pushing deeper and deeper — 

She's so soft for him, so hot and wet, so tight and hot and wet and soft and they're groaning together, growling together — 

She's pushing back against him — 

"Hurry, brother, *hurry*!" 

"I love you, I *love* you, I can't *hurt* you —" 

"You *won't*!" 

"*Please* —" 

"I *promise*! I *promise* you!" 

He snarls and shoves *deep* — 

The light is bright, blinding — 

He doesn't know that the light is cold stabbing his *heart* until he realizes he can't *breathe* — 

"Oh, brother, oh, my brother, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but I had to *feel* you —" 

"It — it —" 

He chokes — 

He gasps and *chokes* — 

He grips her — and he's holding smoke, shadow — less than that. 

Different from that. 

He blinks — 

He *focuses* — 

And Amina, five years older, *not* pregnant, and also not entirely on this *sphere* is — pressed to him. 

Facing him, coiled round him — 

"Brother..."

"You're." He swallows, shuddering hard from the cold. "You're a ghost." 

She's weeping. The tears melt into the not-quite-nothingness of her. "Yes, my brother. I'm sorry..." 

He groans and kisses her — 

Tries to *kiss* her — 

Everything skips — 

Everything warms *ominously* — 

"No, no — *don't* —" 

"Amina, *please* —" 

"You will fall into another *dream*, my brother, and I... I will take your power. Drain your power. More of your power." 

Treville *blinks* — 

And Amina smiles at him ruefully. "I knew I was going to die, my brother. I knew I had no option, no choice — but one. I made myself as powerful, as *virulent* as I could —" 

"To protect — where *is* Porthos, sister? I have to — please, let me take him in, let me protect him —" 

"He's safe now —" 

"*Amina* —" 

"But I will lead you to him. Even I can't simply *say* where he is, my brother. The spells will not allow it." 

Treville takes a painful breath — and nods. "And you'll come to me again? You'll — please, I have to *touch* you —" 

"You don't know how *weak* you are right now, my brother. I have left you all but *sapped* —" 

"I don't *care* —" 

"*You won't be able to get Porthos*." 

Treville grunts — 

And deals with the fact that he's shuddering — 

That he's *still* shuddering — 

*Aching* in every joint — 

But it's Amina. 

It's Amina, naked and dark and sleek and here, smoky and *rich* on his *cock* — 

He aches there, too. 

She sobs a laugh — "You foolish *hound* —" 

"*Yours* —" 

"Fuck me, then, fuck me *hard* —" 

He rolls her onto her *back* — 

Pins her arms — 

He has to focus — 

*Pull* energy from the jackal on the bedside table — 

He can feel it *pouring* into *her* — 

And suddenly she's solid enough beneath him that it works, it *works* — 

She *clenches* around him — 

He grunts — 

He grunts and nothing is cold, nothing is wrong, nothing is *wrong*, and he kisses her hard, kisses her like a brother — 

She moans into his mouth and wraps her long, strong legs around his hips — 

Pulls him *in* — 

Pulls him in so *hard* — 

He *grunts* into her mouth and *grinds* — 

She *shouts* into *his* mouth — 

He licks her, laps her whole beautiful *face* — 

"Oh, brother — fuck — *fuck*, brother, you must *hurry*!" 

He doesn't *want* to — 

"You *must*!" 

He growls and bites her *lip* — 

She grunts and bucks — and laughs. "Did you think I would not enjoy it? Mm? Fuck me hard. Fuck me *fast*. I've ached for your cock for five long *years* — and eons longer than that in the worlds beyond *life*!" 

*He* grunts — 

Her eyes are so dark — 

So wide — 

There are — 

There are little *pinpricks* of light deep within — 

Light that feels like -- 

It pulls on him, stretches and claws at him *inside* -- 

"Close your eyes and *fuck* me, brother!" 

He *snaps* his eyes shut and *thrusts* — 

She *screams* — 

He has to see — 

"Not yet!" 

He thrusts again — 

"Oh — oh, *yes* —" 

"Please *let* me —" 

"Let me make myself *safe* —" She laughs more — "*Safer* — but fuck me! *Fuck* me!" 

He does, he *does*, holding her slim, strong wrists and fucking in, fucking *in* — 

She cries *out* — 

The sound echoes in a way that seems like it should make the plaster *crack* — 

"*Now* look!" 

And for a moment he's *afraid* — 

"Oh, *brother*, I'm *sorry* —" 

He looks anyway, and she's there, she's there, his sister, his lover, his *wife* —

She *sobs* and bucks again, again — 

Clenches so *tight* — 

"Do not stop, do not *slow* —" 

"You're my *wife*!" 

"Yes! Oh, yes!" 

"I'll — I'll never *leave* you!" 

She sobs and breaks his hold on her easily, clutching him round the neck and holding him, kissing him — 

Her tears are so *icy* — 

He won't let go, he won't let *go* — 

She cries out and *spasms* around him — 

He can feel her *spurt*, feel her smoky essence curl and coil round his cock — 

His knot — 

"My — my *husband* —" 

He snarls *helplessly* —

"*In*!" 

He *gives* her his knot, one little push at a time, one little — 

And he's aching, they're both *aching* — 

She feels *warmer* now — 

He knows that's a bad *sign* — 

But he's so hard, so hot, so — 

So hungry and *hot* for her, and he's slamming *in in in* — 

She's crooning for him, for every *push* — 

He just needs to be *in* — 

"One more *shove*, my husband!" 

He can't get the word yes out, he can't speak, he can't — 

He shoves *in* — 

She *howls* — 

She clenches *tight* around him, all around him, he's so *deep* — 

He can't *breathe* — 

He can't *think* — 

He — 

She clenches over and over and *over* — 

"*Spend* for me, my brother!" 

*Yes*, he — 

He ruts *in* — 

His body's not responding the way it *should* — 

He's half-collapsed on *top* of her, but he can rut and rut and — 

And *spurt*, hot and aching — 

Hot and — 

Giving — 

Give her everything, *everything* — 

"My sweet brother! My sweet *husband*... I will save this for you, I think...." 

And that doesn't make sense....

"Shh, shh...." 

He can quiet himself — 

He can be still — 

He doesn't want to wake the baby — 

"That's right, my perfect brother. My perfect husband," Amina says and she's so warm as she slips out from under him — 

Her skin is so — 

So sleek and — 

Her lips are soft on his cheek —

"I'm leaving now, my husband —" 

"*Don't*!" 

"I must. I must, or I will touch you more, and hurt you more, and I — I can't do that," she says, and kisses the back of his shoulder before rolling him onto his back. "Even that has hurt you," she says, floating over him, over the bed, naked and unashamed. 

Treville — aches. "I need you." 

She stares into him for long moments — 

She's *weeping* again — 

"I need you, too, my brother." 

And that — 

He struggles to *rise* — 

To sit up and *reach* for her — 

He falls back to the bed twice before she sucks in a sharp breath and drags her hand over her face, smudging her whole *seeming* for a moment — 

It's *distressing* — 

"Jean-Armand! You just fucked a *ghost*!" 

"Well," he says. "I didn't do it *well*." 

He gets a splutter and *caw* for that, and it's balm to everything which makes him who he *is*.

He grins — 

"Oh — brother. You will *recognize* our Porthos when you see him —" 

"Of course I —" 

"No, no. I mean — do you remember? When I said I would raise him to be just like you?" 

Treville moans. "You... you already started?" 

"Of course I did! There was no time to waste!" 

"Oh, *Amina* —" And he tries to reach her again — 

"*No*. *Rest*."

He slumps. He can't — he can't do anything *else* — 

"Oh, my beautiful brother, we can't do *this* —" 

"*Don't* say that —" 

"Jean-*Armand* —" 

"I won't let you *stop* me with that, Amina-love!" 

"*Treville* —" 

"We *need* each other!" 

They stare at each other silently for long moments — 

They stare and she *reaches* — 

He nods — 

She *snatches* her hand back — 

"*Amina* —" 

"I will come to you –"

"You're goddamned *right* you —" 

"*Hst*." 

He shuts his mouth. 

"I will *come* to you, my husband. But not until you are *healed* enough to retrieve Porthos."

"Oh — oh, *yes* — and. May I. May I adopt —" 

"*Yes*. Please — please, you must *know* I always wanted him to be *yours* —" 

"He *is* mine! *Ours*. Our boy. We shared him. We — oh, *Amina*. We'll take such good care of him together!" 

"I AM A GHOST!" 

"But he can see you, can't he? Hear you?" 

"He... he hasn't come into his power, yet. He can't see me *all* the time, and he can't hear me. But he can feel me. He knows his Maman is watching.." 

"Good enough. We — we'll be a *family*." 

She cocks her head to the side. "With your other lovers?"

Treville blinks. "Did you not want them —" 

"I asked *you* a question, Jean-Armand." 

Treville licks his lips — and nods. "Then, yes. They're the best men I know, and Marie-Angelique has done a fine job with her boys. I've *ached* to have our families closer, and —" 

"And you have no doubts for this, no pauses, no shame..." 

"Why would I?" 

She shudders, and more tears fall and disappear just that fast. "I had forgotten, my husband." 

"Forgotten?" 

"Or... perhaps I had forgotten to *hope* that you were truly the same man, the same *dog*, that you always were." 

"I always will be!" 

She growls. "Yes. Yes, you will. And we will *make* this a family —" 

*He* growls — it's pathetically *weak*, but — "Yes!" 

"Rest, my husband. *Rest*. I will come back for you," she says, leaning in close — but not touching before she blows a kiss. 

The cold still makes Treville shudder and close his eyes — 

And then it's just too hard to open them again.


	2. Doubt is cold.

Jason has been accustomed to living in comfort for centuries, but he will always be a soldier. There's no hardship to taking up residence in this cupboard of Treville's, especially since he can stretch it across the spheres here and there —

Make *room* for himself and a few bibs and bobs — 

Settle *in* to being wanted in a lover's *home* — 

Well, not that. 

Not quite that. 

Easier, by far, to settle in to being the dog's guard dog, and pricking up his ears when the ghost crosses all of his most subtle wards and enters Treville's bedroom. 

He gives the man a little while to not be aware that he's being visited — it always takes the uninitiated a little time — and then he *is* aware, and he does *precisely* what Jason knew he would. 

He spends his power, his *life*-force, profligately and alarmingly in order to make love to his dead wife, and she allows it — 

Well, she's powerful enough to speak, and he's more than powerful enough to listen. They love each other. At the moment, they're loving each other *stupidly*, but Jason has loved people precisely this much. Jason has spent lonely nights aching for *deaths* just like this, cold and enfolded, pierced and piercing. 

He cannot, and does not, judge. 

What he does do is watch carefully, and keep a weather eye on Treville's health to make sure things don't get *too* dire — 

And, when she leaves him — and Treville *collapses* — he uses his shadows to outpace her until he can step out in front of her on the grounds. She is more powerful than any dead thing he's ever *seen*, more frankly *vital*, and only some of that is what she's taken from Treville. She is *precisely* as tall as he is, and strong in multiple ways, and beautiful. 

She crosses her arms under her breasts — she's clothed herself in a colourful wrap-dress with a matching scarf for her hair — and *looks* at him. Even her gaze is strong — *pinning*. "Are you surprised, Blood? I gave my life *to* my death, so it would not go to that *monster*." 

And the bonds — the many bonds that exist between her and Treville — 

The nature of her as a revenant — 

Her phenomenal *strength* — she can see Jason, inside and out. Well, he has nothing to hide at the moment. He doesn't bother to block. "I'm less surprised than fascinated, Madame," he says, and inclines his head. "I've never seen it done before — and nothing like it by witches with your orientation." 

"I was desperate," she says, clipped and a little cold. She thinks, perhaps, that Jason is here to limit her. 

Is he? 

There is a hollow place in his soul, already, that is Treville's *lack*. His *absence* due to love's recklessness — 

"I will not *let* him kill himself!" 

"Could you stop him, Madame? At this point, if you stopped seeing him..." 

"No! My husband would *never* take his own life! He is — he would track me down like the hound he *is*. He would make me... make me..." And she is weeping again. There is a voice within her that she is desperately trying to tamp down — 'we never had our *chance*.' 

Jason nods once. "I understand this —" 

"Do you? *Can* you?" 

"Not.... in this exact way —" 

"Then don't *say* those *words*." 

Jason winces and nods.

After a moment, Amina shudders and wipes her face. Her seeming barely shifts, at all, which is just one more proof of how *present* she is. "I must believe he will be less reckless — and drive me to be less reckless — when he has our Porthos. I must believe... he was always so good with Porthos when he was a babe, always *ignored* me in just the right ways *for* Porthos. Do you know...?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "I've also never been responsible for raising a child, but I believe I know what you're saying. He instinctively made the child his first priority." 

"*Exactly*. As it *should* be," Amina says, and sighs. "You saw tonight? You saw that it stopped him?" 

"Not enough, Madame," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"No. No, not enough," she says, and frowns hard. "It is an obscenity for a wife to *drain* her husband — I feel like — like a *monster*." 

"Well," Jason says. "Technically, you *are* one, at the moment." 

She looks at him. 

"I've been chastised about my inability to say reassuring things in the past." 

She — snorts. Hard, covering her face and lighting up with a *bright* beauty that is —

Utterly problematic for *him* to see. 

He doesn't turn away — he *can't* do that around a revenant, no matter how theoretically positive — but he tamps *himself* down — 

Ignores the parts of him which *are* Treville, now — 

"Can you do that...? Brother?" 

"Madame —" 

She steps closer —

Jason steps back and holds up a hand. "Madame. I have reflexes when it comes to revenants. Please don't trigger them." 

She eyes the glow coming from the sword on his back — and nods. "Very well, brother —" 

"*Madame* —" 

"You *are* mine, you know. Treville is blood of my blood. He is part of me and I am part of *him* —" 

"When you were *alive* —" 

"Can you honestly look at me, Blood, as I am now, and think I cannot *feel* you? Feel your *touch* — your *corruption* — on my husband?" 

"And *not* you —" 

She shows her teeth — her canines are sharp. "But that is a formality at this point. You have *my* blood in *your* veins, brother." 

And — he does. There is absolutely no denying that. 

She crosses her arms again and gives him a *smug* look, and — 

And — "Are you as much of an *arsehole* as your brother?" 

"He has *always* said that I surpass him in *every* way," she says, and her eyes glitter meanly — 

But they also glitter with the light that exists beyond death — a light that's rather dangerous for mages to *look* at. 

"Oh — *fuck*," she says, and turns away — 

"It's difficult to control?" 

"Sometimes it just *happens*," she says. "It... it creeps up..." 

"It is, perhaps, your revenant nature, Madame. Revenants were not meant to be kind." 

She growls. "I am not a *monster*!" 

"I suspect you do everything in your power not to be —" 

"*Yes*." 

"Is it getting harder?" 

"... what?" 

And that pause was... telling. "It's getting harder," he says, staying out of her range — but in range for a sword-blow — "and sometimes you worry about your touch, your influence, on your son." 

She gives him a hard look for that. "I will *never* hurt my *son*." 

"But you do worry, do you not?" 

"Of *course* I do. That is why —" And then her mouth... disappears, leaving a blank, brown strip of flesh-that-isn't between her nose and rounded chin. 

That's *confusing* — until Jason remembers. "You can't tell me what you've done to protect your son. The spells your living-self set won't allow it." 

She nods, once, and her mouth slowly fades back into existence. 

"I apologize for that, Madame. I won't try to trick you into telling secrets you can't." 

She holds up a hand. "I know you weren't trying to do that, brother —" 

"You must stop *claiming* me —" 

Another *mean* smile — 

"Madame —" 

"You aren't more comfortable with me now that you know I have put safeguards in place to protect my son should I become a ravening beast...?" 

"I do love prudent women, but —" 

"You do not feel more *kin* to me watching me accept all whom my lover loves?" And that mean smile is still on her face — 

There is a teasing laugh dancing in the aether all round them, raucous and *bright* — 

And her eyes are safe. 

But. "Perhaps we don't have the same reasons for doing so, Madame." 

"Don't we? Brother?" 

"No —" 

"I *see* you. I see every moment you have spent with my hound of a husband — and every moment you have *lurked* just beyond *his* perception —" 

Jason rears back — 

And her smile softens — 

And the laughter becomes soothing rumbles of not a significantly higher pitch than Treville's —

She steps *closer* — 

"*Don't*." 

She stops. And nods. But she doesn't stop rumbling, and — "Brother... what do you think it felt like to be an ex-slave, hm?" 

"I — of course I have no comprehension —" 

"I *don't* think that's true. Because I was an ex-slave in a society — a *world* — which told me that that meant that I was *dirty*, *filthy*, *wrong*, *less*. *Less* — and worse than worthless. My touch would *stain* my betters. Is this sounding familiar, yet?" 

Jason — blinks. 

Amina laughs hard. "And then! And *then*, one day, comes a man — a beautiful man, a *nobleman* — who doesn't seem to care anything about what the world thinks, who promises love and care and *forever* —" 

"Yes, but —" 

"*But*, of course, he loves these other people. *All* of these other people." 

"An entire —" Jason laughs helplessly. "I can't seem to shake the sense that I'm going to turn over a rock or open a cupboard door and *another* lover for him is going to tumble out —" 

"*Yes*! He is a *dog*!" 

"And so are you." 

Amina smiles ruefully, looking at something in her memories for a moment. "I was only a *little* bit doggy before the rituals. A bit too much sniffing of my lovers, not doing my own laundry often enough... that sort of thing. And because my husband and I never consummated..." 

"It never went as far as it did with him." 

"That will change now," she says, with a covetous light in her eyes. "We will be dogs together, even though I cannot be his *living* wife." She closes one hand into a fist and smiles — and then gives herself a shake. "But we were talking of you." 

Jason takes a breath — "I do take your points —" 

"I *doubt* that, brother —" 

"I — Amina —" 

"*Better* —" 

"*Amina*. He has *proven* to you that he will always —" 

"Run back to his other lovers, too? Make a *pack* with *all* of them? All of *you*? Yes, brother, he *has*." 

"I —" 

"Listen. *Listen*, old brother," she says, and jabs a callused finger at him. "You have made a bride of your loneliness and a pack of your grief and your self-*loathing* —" 

"I *haven't* —" 

"You *have*. I smell it on you like the demon in your soul, like the mage you're punishing in that sword — what did she do?" 

Jason bares his teeth — "Killed a *love* of mine, but —" 

"But you see? You've let *tragedy* run with you in your pack, too —" 

"What *choice* did I have?" 

"You had none, my brother," she says, and her hands make a cupping motion — and then she smiles ruefully and drops them. "You had none. But you have one now." 

Jason — stares. 

Amina raises an eyebrow. 

"We... we both know it's not so *easy* —" 

"No, old brother, it's *not*," she says. "It's so hard that I had to *die* before I could see the truth of the lesson —" 

"*Fuck* — all *right* —" 

She gives him that mean smile again, and — 

And Jason snorts. "You plan on playing that particular card whenever you can, don't you." 

"One does what one *must*," Amina says, and flashes teeth that shine like knives in the moonlight. 

"Very true," Jason says, and deliberately makes himself vulnerable enough to bow to her — 

"I *thank* you," she says, and curtseys back — 

And then they're just looking at each other in the light of the setting moon, and —

And Jason has to ask. "Is it... do you never feel..." He frowns. It's not the easiest concept to express for any number of reasons, but —

"What is it, brother?" 

"Have you ever found yourself wondering if it's time for you to... make way? For the others?" 

"Of course I do. Of *course* I do. But then... I never gave my husband — or *my* pack — the chance to *ease* that." And she *looks* at him. 

Jason feels every last one of those daggers. 

He — 

"I will spend a *lot* of time thinking about —" 

"Not too much time! You are a *smarter* man than that!" 

Jason laughs helplessly — 

And Amina grins, beautiful and sharp and... and Jason can admit to himself — and to Amina, whom he has never blocked from his thoughts — that she is not only beautiful to the parts of him which *are* Treville. 

She is... kin. 

"See? I *told* you that you were a smart man," she says, needlessly adjusting her scarf before floating up into the air a few feet. "I must return to my son." 

"*I* must do what I can to repair the damage you did to your *husband*," Jason says, and *looks* at her. 

She winces. "Give him to the Mother. It is *past* time that he communes with Her. That will be faster, and he *will* let you corrupt him again." 

The pause in Jason for that is — itself. 

She smiles gently down at him. "We must give our loves chances to prove that they are worthy of us, you know." 

Jason inhales sharply — "Or else we will always... doubt." 

Amina inclines her head. "Doubt is *cold*, old brother. Colder, I think, than even I am." 

Jason inclines his head to acknowledge her truth — 

And she is gone. 

She'll be back as soon as Treville is healed enough for it. 

She — 

She's almost certainly strong enough to walk in daylight, though it must weaken her to some extent...

Hm. How cautious is she? 

How cautious is she versus how badly she craves the company of — her husband. 

Whom Jason can have all to himself right this minute. 

And — 

And. 

It may be time to stop thinking of moments like that as precious jewels to hoard against the lean times. The *inevitable* lean times. 

It may have been time to do that the *first* time Reynard *tried* to kiss him, but couldn't — and then immediately slashed his arm open. 

It —

He smiles wryly at himself as he opens a path into Treville's bedroom. Amina's points were legion, truly. Now he just has to figure out how in all the bloody hells to *take* them.


	3. Enter the potato tree.

Treville wakes up cold and — wet? 

He's getting rained on? 

"You truly are, amant, and I'm sorry about that, but you're going to have to deal with it until you take the time to commune with your Mother —" 

"My *what* now —" 

"The *All*-Mother. The *Earth* — all of Her, in all of Her guises —" 

"Wait —" 

"How do you feel?" 

Treville blinks. 

Considers. 

"Like I've been trampled by every horse in the garrison after spending a night fucking every last — oh, fuck. Oh, fuck —" 

And Jason leans over him, blocking the rain from falling on his face. His hair is down, and that's just a little too nice for how he feels right now — Jason laughs. "You're welcome. But you *do* remember what you were doing last night...?"

"It feels like — like *months* ago —" 

"Yes, a bit of time-buggery is only to be expected when one has been *literally* fucking the dead —" 

"That was — that was our first *time* —" 

"Yes —" 

"I was *awful* —" 

Jason splutters. "That's what you care about. *That*." 

Treville *looks* at him. "What should I care about?" 

"The fact that she drained you nearly *dry*, perhaps? I'm just offering an example, you understand." 

"I —" Treville flushes. "It's not her fault." 

"No, it isn't," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "And we had a good conversation while you were drooling unconscious in the puddle of yourself —" 

"You *did*? Oh, that's wonderful — did you see — she's so — and *you're* so — you got along, didn't you? I always thought you would —" 

Jason kneels closer and presses down on Treville's chest. "Amant."

"Did you *not* get along —" 

"She claimed me right away. She pointed out that *her* blood was in my veins," Jason says, and smiles helplessly. "She's perfectly beautiful, and sharp, and... more than a little blinding."

Treville parts his lips for a moment — and then grins *wide*. "You know... Kitos said I had an instinct for this. Picking people who fit in our family." 

Jason smiles, and it still looks helpless. "You do, you know. I can't help but wonder..." 

Treville raises his eyebrows, lifting his — ridiculously weak — arm so that he can trace Jason's features a little with his fingertips. "What is it?" 

The smile quirks. "You should save your energies, you know." 

"From what I understand, I'm about to get a great *deal* of energy. And, probably, the hiding of my life." 

"Well — yes — hm." 

"What? And tell me —" 

"A moment, amant. What *do* you know of communing with the All-Mother?" 

Treville smiles wryly. "That the witches who made me this bypassed that road a *lot* so that we could all avoid the attention of gods as much as was possible? They told me a bit about it, though. How, when I use the jackal to access my power, I'm really drawing on the earth —" 

"On the *All-Mother*. Learn that. *Know* it. It *will* save your life — especially if you persist in... well. Amina *is* everything you said she was. And everything I could always see in your mind."

"Yes," Treville says, and sighs. "I have to figure out how to make love to her *well* —" 

"Your first step on that road should *probably* be learning how to make love to her without losing *all* your *vitality*, amant." 

And that — Treville smiles ruefully. "You should probably be mad at me." 

"Should I?" 

"I risked your lover's life," Treville says, quietly, and traces Jason's mouth. He can't help the tremble in his fingers. 

Jason sighs and kisses them. "Mon amant... you didn't come to me a blushing virgin." 

"No, but —" 

"One of the things Amina and I discussed was... well." And Jason smiles very wryly indeed. 

"My remarkable whorishness?" 

"It's fascinating to watch the dog in you *accept* all of you, all of the *facts* of you with aplomb and eagerness to move to the next step... and watch the man in you look on in rueful dismay." 

"The dog rather makes a *hash* of proper —" 

"Stop. Please." 

Treville inhales sharply — and nods. 

"Propriety has nothing to do with *us*, mon amant. Not *any* of us in this family. In this *pack*. Yes?" 

There — is no denying that. He nods again. 

"That... was one of the *undertones* of Amina's and my discussion, I'd say..." And Jason looks thoughtful. "The overtones were about her control over her own powers, and how she's still learning them, and... about my insecurities, for lack of a better word." He smiles at Treville again. "It isn't easy loving a man with many loves." 

Treville winces — 

"That wasn't a stab, I promise. I mean only to say... you've noticed that I've held myself... apart, to a certain extent —" 

"Yes, and I *hate* it —" 

"I know, amant. I don't mean to hurt you. I would *never* —" Jason growls and kisses him, his usual smoky taste blending with and blunted by the rainwater — 

Jason kisses him harder — 

Moans and grips his *hair* — 

Treville tries to kiss him back in kind — and realizes that he's too weak. *Fuck* — 

Jason laughs in his mind. (Perhaps I should have my wicked, wicked way with you right here in the mud where all your servants can see...) 

They've seen worse — recently, probably — but I'd like to be able to *enjoy* it, Jason. 

And Jason reaches down to *grip*... Treville's soft cock. "Reeking *offal*, man —" 

"Charming —" 

"You haven't been this soft since we *met* —" 

"I'm *sorry* —" 

But Jason pulls back — 

"Jason —" 

"No, we're not finishing this conversation until you've apologized *sincerely* to your *Mother* and gotten yourself *healed*." 

"Oh, fuck —" 

"Get *down* there!" 

"I... have no idea how." 

Jason looks at him. 

"Look, Ife *told* me about earth-mages communing with the Mother — the All-Mother — in more *complete* ways than I do when I use my jackal, but —" 

"She wasn't specific," Jason says, and frowns at him a bit blackly. 

"I'm... very sorry?" 

Jason gives him a *pinched* look — 

"I'm *definitely* very —" 

"It's *disgusting* that your puppy looks work on me." 

"Well," Treville says, and lolls his tongue a little. "Not to me." 

Jason makes a scoffing noise, turns away for a moment, and then places Treville's jackal in his hands — 

"*Thank* you —" 

"*Don't* draw on it — yet." 

"I — all right?" 

"Hold it. *Concentrate*. *Open* yourself —" 

"That's bloody *dangerous* —" 

"To most, yes. But you've your jackal to protect you — not to mention *me*. And, given the fact that you're bare-arse naked in a *richly* fertile field —" 

"Oh, no, are we about to curse *more* of my arable land —" 

"We are *not*, you ignorant sod. We're about to *bless* it. *Finally*. You might even get some extra turnips out of it —" 

"Oh, hey —" 

"*Do* it!" 

Right, right, he can — 

He can stop brassing Jason *off* — 

And concentrate — 

And concentrate — 

And suddenly the earth (MOTHER) is *alive* beneath him — 

He can *just* hear Jason saying something that's probably extremely — 

And then the earth (MOTHER) opens wide and swallows him *deep*. 

Well. 

Well... 

Treville takes a moment to decide whether or not he should be terrified — 

**WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN.**

And then he takes several moments to be... flat. 

And quiet. 

And flat. 

Because. Because that's his only option after a greeting like that. There is no part of him which isn't aware that — 

MOTHER? 

**YES. ANSWER ME.**

His entire *being* feels like it's been beaten into *pastry* by Cook — and then thrown to the *pigs*, because Cook remembered that he thinks pastry is for ponces. 

He — 

But — 

He's answering. 

He's giving MOTHER a full *report* on where he's been and what he's been doing and who he's been doing it with and how he's been doing it and *why* he's been doing it for the past twenty-eight *years*. 

He's — 

He can't *help* it — 

It's spilling out of him like blood from an arterial slash — 

Like — 

Like *spend* — 

He's groaning and *writhing* — 

**BE STILL. YOU ARE WEAK.**

And then he's *still* but still *giving*, still — 

Still *reporting* — 

There's a light on him like every green thing in the world, like every leaf he didn't examine closely enough before pushing it out of his face, like every stem of every flower he ever sneezed at, like every bush he ever *pissed* in — 

He — 

He — 

He can't *stop* — 

Until he does. 

And it's only the light. 

And the silent, flattening *weight* of MOTHER'S — and SHE *is* MOTHER, he can see that now; he doesn't know how he didn't see it before — gaze. 

The flattening weight of HER presence. 

HER — godhead. 

Fucking hell.

He has a *god*. 

HER amusement is flattening, too — until it isn't. There is a... pulling away, like a weight off everything that makes him who he is, until MOTHER is inside him and all around and all through him — but not *crushing him utterly*. 

But — 

MOTHER?

And he's aware of — something. Not a voice. Not words. But like that, just the same. Knowledge. 

Knowledge that he's HER son, yes, but that he wasn't always as *much* HER son as he was made to be. 

Knowledge that as soon as he *was* made to be HERS, he should have come to HER, that every time he used the jackal to call her, it was like being teased with him, being promised touch, connection, *communion*, but being given only whispers. 

Knowledge that being made into what he was made was a birth for HER, that it could be nothing else. A birth and a further giving — the dog that runs inside and *beside* him. The dog Treville *bound* mostly inside himself with no love, no freedom for his own until very recently. 

Knowledge that *one* member of his chosen pack is a man SHE tolerates, because of the many favours and kindnesses that he has done for HER beloved children, but that Jason Blood will always be somewhat apart from HER, because the warring he had done with HER child Etrigan had created a third, nameless being inside them — a shadow-being — who is not of HER or any other god SHE knows. 

Knowledge that if Treville doesn't visit more often, SHE is going to be *extremely* upset.

Treville opens his mouth — 

And then suddenly every orifice of his body is being *reamed* with *green* energy, life, healing, *light* — 

He can't scream — 

He can't spend — 

He's spending *anyway* — 

MOTHER is still holding him *still* — 

A part of him can't help but remember his father's *ancient* chatelaine Marceline — thin as a stick and tough as boiled *leather* — scruffing him up and scrubbing him from head to toe herself, because she said the nanny was a slattern and that *he* would *roll* in filth if left to his own devices — 

Which has *never* been true — 

Even when he *is* the dog — 

Probably — 

MOTHER is now *looking* at him while she reams him, but Reynard's breeches have never counted as filth — 

Not even his filthiest breeches — 

And then SHE — ejects him. 

And his jackal. 

He finds himself on his knees, in the mud, with the jackal in his left hand and the knowledge that he absolutely doesn't *need* it anymore and if he uses it again when he doesn't bloody have to — 

Well — 

"*Well*?" 

Treville stands and gives himself a shake. 

Jason is standing a few feet away with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow up — the rain isn't touching him overmuch, and Treville isn't sure he should tell him that Amina looks at him like that all the bloody time — and Treville's potato field is looking rather *extremely* lush and verdant. 

And he's pretty sure there won't be any more screaming turnips, either. He grins. 

Jason makes a disgusted sound. "I bet she didn't even *scold* you, you arse." 

"She *flattened* me, lover," Treville says, shaking himself all over for good measure and moving close. His hair is already hanging lank from the rain, but he feels hot, bright, *ready* — "Mm. She raked me over the *coals*. It was the debriefing of a *lifetime* — and she had a bit to say about you." 

The shadow behind Jason's eyes doesn't have a damned thing to do with the shadow-*creature*. That won't do. 

Treville cups Jason's face — and *jerks* — "What —" 

"You were *cleansed*, amant," Jason says ruefully. "I... you're free of me." 

"I'm bloody well not! Where's your *blade*." 

"Are —" 

"Jason, I love you, but if you're about to ask me if I'm *sure* I want to be kin to you, then *I'm* about to hit you and probably puke on these poor, innocent potatoes." 

"What is your obsession with food that isn't *meat*?" 

"About your insecurities." 

Jason inhales once — and then turns away.

Treville reaches up, grits his teeth, *grips* Jason's chin, and uses a significant amount of his power to turn Jason back — 

Jason growls. "Of course she made you stronger than me. Of bloody course she did —" 

"Talk to me —" 

"I'm supposed to — I'm supposed to give you a chance," Jason says, and, for a moment, he's looking everywhere but Treville's eyes, but — then they're finally looking at each other. Jason's eyes are wide, dark, bloody, hungry — and frighteningly young.

"All right. A chance to do *what*, lover? And who on earth made *you* think you were *supposed* to do — oh. This was your conversation with *Amina*?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "She's a forceful woman." 

"If Louis had *half* her spine, France would *own* this continent, but —" 

"I'm supposed to give you a *chance*... to prove that you're *worthy* of me. As if you *haven't* already and I'm not being —" 

"But I haven't. Have I." 

"*Treville* —" 

"Shut it. I *haven't* proven that I'll actually be there for you. I haven't done what it *takes*. If I had, you wouldn't feel this way. So you tell me what it is I need to do, and I *will* do it." And Treville raises his eyebrows. 

Jason shudders. "Let go." 

"*Jason* —" 

Jason pulls his belt-knife in one smooth move — and raises an eyebrow of his own. 

"Right, but I know that this isn't —" 

"Take it from me." 

Treville does, blade first — and pauses. "Why the bloody hell isn't this *cursed*?" 

Jason smiles softly. "I trusted you. I trusted you to ask for a blade."

Treville's heart — seizes. "Brother..." He growls and slashes his forearm, setting the wound not to *bleed* until Jason's lips touch it. "Brother, *take*. And don't stop until we're just as bound together as we were before," he says, raising his arm to Jason's mouth. 

Jason eyes the wound hungrily — 

*Needily* — 

And then turns his gaze back to Treville's eyes. "Let me touch you while I'm taking your blood. I haven't... had *enough* chances for that." 

Treville grins. "But you've had some...?" 

"I'll tell you — please. Let me." 

Treville's cock lifts just a little bit more. "*Have* me." 

Jason growls and *bites* the wound — 

"*Fuck* —" 

And the hot-wrong-*crawling* feel of that hand on his cock makes him cry out and *try* to jerk back, but *Jason* is pulling on his *own* reserves of power — 

Jason is *holding* him — 

Holding him *still* — 

Making him *take* his squeezing-sliding-*insinuating* strokes — 

Treville cries out again — 

*Again* — 

And then he can *focus* on the feel of Jason's tongue sliding over and over and *over* the wound on his arm, feel the long and thick and muscular *force* of its *caress* — 

The *boiling* heat all through him — 

The *change* in the feel of those strokes — 

So hot — 

So *hot* and expert and sweet and *rough* — 

Slick and *wild* — 

Slick and — 

So much *heat* — 

(*Me*, amant...) 

Yes — please, yes! 

(So eager...) 

Drink me *down* —

(Have you always been this reckless?) 

The word is *fearless*, Treville says, laughing and *fucking* that fist, shoving his arm against Jason's face *harder* — 

"*Mm* —" And Jason *looks* at Treville over his arm — and bites down again — 

*Again* — 

*Again* — 

"Fuck — fucking *hell*, Jason —" 

(Forgive me, amant... you're simply too delicious...) 

Treville laughs and *bucks* into Jason's fist, fucks it hard, fucks it *fast* — "C'mon, squeeze me harder, hurt me *more*, I know you *want* to..." 

Jason's eyes fly open *wide* for a moment — 

He squeezes them *shut* — 

And then Jason drops them, knocks them to the ground, jarring Treville *hard* — 

Treville *grunts* — and then he's grunting into Jason's mouth, and the kiss is hard, nasty, deep, *dark*, *bloody* — 

Treville buries his hands in that hair — which has started to actually get a little wet from the rain — and grips, pulls, *holds* — 

Holds Jason in *place* — 

He drops his glamoured clothes — 

His thick cock *drips* on Treville's belly — 

Use a shadow to open me up? 

(I — I can't *wait* that long,) Jason says, and *fucks* against him — 

And fucks *hard* against him — 

And Treville groans and — he can make this good, he can get his legs up, hold Jason tight — 

Pull him *in* — 

(*Amant* —) 

*Do* it, Treville says, and sucks that long, thick, *demon* tongue, sucks his own blood off of it and tries to taste what it is in Jason's saliva that makes it 'corrupt', makes it something the All-Mother has to *clean* — 

(I — I'll tell you all *about* it —) 

You *won't*. You've business to attend to, Treville says, tugging one hand free of that wonderful hair and raking his human claws up Jason's back — 

Jason growls and *bucks* — 

Shoves against him — 

Shakes — and then rolls them until Treville's on top, until Treville's *sprawled* on top — 

And Jason's dark-red hair is spread out on all the green — 

And he's panting and panting and — throwing his head back and *grunting* — 

"Jason, what —" 

"Stretching — myself —" 

"Fuck — but I thought you couldn't *wait* —" 

"I *can't*. Not for you, not for this, not — oh, amant, please, *please* —" 

And Treville kisses Jason again — he has to, he *has* to, and he expends a little power to clean his right hand — 

Moves until he's kneeling between Jason's legs and then reaches down to *check* that hole — 

Oh, fuck, the shadows are stretching him *wide* — 

(If you don't knot me, I — I —) But Jason doesn't finish the thought before Treville pushes in among the shadows, Jason kicks out, Jason *shouts*, heedless and shameless and bloody *perfect* — 

Treville crooks *up* — 

Jason *shouts* — 

The shadows *flex* around Treville's fingers — 

Jason tosses his head, slicking himself with mud, crushing the potato shoots —

The scents of plants and wet earth and *musk* are everywhere, driving Treville *mad* — 

He can't — 

He *fucks* Jason with his fingers, knowing he's not doing a damned thing to open him, knowing that Jason is doing all of that himself and *needing* for there to be a time when he can have that — *all* of that — for *himself* — 

Jason *shouts* again, cock flexing — 

He shares an image of himself lashed down and forbidden from using his *powers* in any way —

He's sharing a fantasy, a wish, a *dream* — 

"Fuck — anything, Jason, bloody anything," Treville says, and *puts* himself in the dream, more of himself, and he'd tie Jason's leg *that* way, so that it would be *up* a little, not just spread — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"No bloody half-*measures*, lover," Treville says, and *yanks* one of the shadows out of Jason's arse — 

Jason *howls* — 

"That's what I *like*," Treville says, and replaces the shadow with a third finger, pushing and twisting *deep* — 

"Take me — take me *apart*!" 

"You're a gruesome man, Jason —" 

Jason *coughs* a laugh — 

"— but I'll see what I can *do*," Treville says, shoving Jason's leg back to his chest and *giving* it to him with his fingers, giving it to him *hard* — 

Jason *groans* — 

Arches and digs the long toes of his other foot into the mud — 

Gasps and *takes* it — 

"Yeah, you've needed this. Haven't you, lover." 

"Yes — *yes*," Jason says, and it's clear that he's forcing himself down a little bit, that he's *driving* himself — 

Treville growls and *crooks* again — 

"*Fuck* —" 

Again — 

"Oh — *fuck* —" 

And then he just *works* that little pleasure-button, massaging it until Jason is panting and sweating and groaning *constantly* — 

*Keening* just a little — 

"That's right, lover. Drop right down for me..." 

"I — I..." 

"I'll take you apart. *I* will." 

"Yes —" 

"*You* won't do it for me," Treville says, and twists as he *thrusts* in — 

"*Amant* —" 

"You *need* this. Don't you." 

"*Yes*! *Please*!" 

"Then just lie back and *take* it." 

"I — " And Jason opens his eyes wide — 

They're so *dark* — 

They're so *big* — 

And Treville growls. "Give me my *chance*, lover." 

Jason grunts and flexes open — 

"Good boy," Treville says, and starts to *ream* him again. 

"Please — *please* —" 

"Please what? What do you need?" 

"Please be *ruthless*," Jason says, and, if anything, his eyes are even more *wide* — 

Treville *snarls* — "*Drop*. You're already down in the mud for me. You're *not* getting up until you've had my cock *and* my knot —" 

"*Please* —" 

"*Don't* interrupt." 

Jason's cock spasms and spatters them both with slick — 

Treville flares his nostrils and lifts his chin. "Apologize." 

Jason *blinks* — 

Pants — 

"I apologize!" 

Treville stops holding Jason's leg up and smacks his cock *hard* —

"*Fuck* — *amant* —" 

"Apologize *again* for being *slow*." 

"I *apologize*!" he says, fast and sweet and *ready* — and just a little shocked — 

Treville smiles. "Now tell me if 'ruthless' means I *hurt* you more," he says, and keeps *fucking* Jason, keeps *giving* it to him. "Be quick about it, lover. I love the feel of your arse around my fingers — you're hot as an *oven* — but..." 

Jason stares at him unblinking for long moments — 

His lips are parted just a little — 

It's *obvious* he wasn't expecting this... 

And Treville gets it. He nods. "You maybe thought my control only went one way? That I was only *controlling* in one way?" 

"Yes — yes, amant — I apologize —" 

"Shh. That's good, but shh. Just tell me. Do I *hurt* you more." 

Jason flushes. "Not... necessarily." 

"That's not a good enough answer," Treville says, and *stops* fucking Jason. 

Jason *grunts*, eyes going even wider again — "Please —" 

"You *know* what to *do*." 

Jason moans *loudly* — "I — sometimes pain is precisely what I need. Sometimes pain is something to endure. I'm not — I'm not entirely *certain* which it is now —" 

"How do I make you certain? Mm?" 

"Please. Please hit me again —" 

"Your cock?"

"Anywhere —" 

Treville smacks his bollocks, instead — not really hard, at all — 

"*Fuck* — fuck — please — please do that. Please do that again and again," Jason says, turning his head and *gasping* — 

His wet hair is sticking to his *face* — 

His mouth is open *wide* — 

And Treville's knot is *throbbing*. It can wait. Treville pulls out slowly — 

Jason whimpers — 

"Shh, shh, just for now. Just for now, lover. *Brother*," he says, and uses his power to clean his hand. Then he holds Jason's heavy, full bollocks in his one hand and caresses them with the other. 

"May — may I have my shadows?" 

Treville *sweats*, hot even in the cooling rain — "Yes, but just to hold you open. No fucking." 

Jason *groans* — and stuffs himself — 

Treville rumbles and caresses those bollocks just a little more roughly. "That's a beautiful sight, brother. You keeping yourself open wide for me..." 

"For — yes, for *you* —" 

"You know I'm aching for you, don't you? You can feel it?" 

"I — I —" 

"Let yourself. Get *in* me and *let* yourself feel how badly I want your arse." 

And the *heat* spreads through Treville — 

And Jason's arse is flexing and clenching and *clenching* around those shadows — 

And Jason is *panting* — "Please! *Please*, amant!" 

"You have to come down a little more, Jason. You know that." 

"Yes — fuck — bring me down, please bring me down — I — I — I'll *wait* —" 

"Good *boy*," Treville says, and tries not to lose *all* of his mind for the fact that he's doing *this* with Jason — 

With a six-hundred-year-old — no. 

No. 

He's doing it with *Jason*. His *brother*. His *lover*. 

That's the most important thing. 

"Here it comes," Treville says, caressing one more time and then giving those bollocks another light smack — 

"Ah — *please*. Please more, please — so much more —" 

"No pausing...?" 

"Please, please, just —" And Jason bites his lip and shakes his head — 

"Jason. You know that's not an answer." 

"I —" And Jason looks up at him with wild and bloody eyes. "I'm tempted to give Reynard's answer. 'Run me over'....?" 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Is that a question?" 

Jason inhales deeply and with a shudder. "No, amant. No. Not for this." 

Treville growls — and looks right at him as he smacks those bollocks again — 

"*Yes*!" 

And over and over and *over* again — 

"Ah, *fuck* —" 

"It builds, doesn't it," Treville says, and keeps smacking — 

"Yes — *yes* —" 

"Even the lightest smacks..." 

"Please, yes!" 

"Fuck, Jason, you make me so —" Treville *growls*. "A little harder now. *Only* a little." 

Jason nods and nods —

A lock of wet hair gets between his teeth — 

He *bites* it — 

Treville's cock leaks *copiously* — and he smacks those bollocks harder. Just — 

Again. 

Over and *over* — 

Jason *sobs* and *arches* — 

"Are you with me, lover?" 

"*Yes*!" 

"Do you like it?" 

"Please! Please don't stop!" 

Treville growls and pants and squeezes those bollocks a little helplessly — 

Jason *screams* — 

"Too hard, brother?" 

"No — no — I'll *spend* —" 

"Really, now," Treville says, and squeezes again — 

Jason screams again, going *rigid* — 

And then Treville releases the squeeze and goes back to smacking, just a little bit harder —- 

"Please! *Please*!" 

"Are you mine, brother?" 

"You — you must know I have been since the very first *day*! Since you — you cut out that monster's *eye*!"

Treville grunts and snorts — "We've talked about you telling me more about your aesthetic, Jason." 

Jason laughs hard, brightly — "Please, I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm on the ground, I'm — I'm — you can have me on every muddy vegetable field you *have*. You can — I'm *yours*," Jason says, and staring up needily, hungrily — 

Treville growls *helplessly* — and squeezes those bollocks hard — 

"*Fuck* —" 

"Spend first, brother. Spend all over me. *Cover* me with you," Treville says, and *pumps* Jason's bollocks —

"Please — please —" 

"Cover me with your *musk*. Spend on *command* —" 

Jason *yells* — and spurts — "Fuck — oh — *amant* —" And he arches and *pumps* into the air again and again, *heedless* of Treville's grip on his bollocks, heedless of everything save his own pleasure — 

"*Good* boy," Treville growls, squeezing *viciously* hard for a moment — 

Jason cries *out* — 

Spurts *more* — 

And Treville can't wait. "Get those shadows out of you, brother. It's time for you to have my *cock*." 

"Yes — *yes* —" And Jason moans as the shadows *ribbon* out of him slowly, shakily — 

He's still lost to his pleasure — 

Treville grabs them and *yanks* — 

Jason *howls* — and howls *more* when Treville rams *in*. 

"You told me to take you *apart*, Jason." Treville says, and puts those long legs over his own — 

"Yes — oh — murdering *boggarts*, you feel *perfect* —" 

"You're hot around me. *Baking*. You're sleek and slick and I'm not waiting one *moment*," Treville says, pulling out and ramming in *again* — 

"*Brother*!" 

"*My* brother," Treville says, and gives himself the feel of *this* arse, well-opened, ready, *ready* — 

He growls and stops pretending to be anyone but himself, dropping down to cover Jason and fucking him hard, hard, *hard* — 

Jason reaches up with shaking hands and cups his *face* — 

Treville *grins* at him — 

Jason *groans* — "Please — *please* don't *stop* —" 

"You love it, don't you, Jason..." 

"Please, yes —" 

"You love getting *railed*," Treville says, giving him the long strokes he had to *train* himself to be *able* to give again after he'd gotten his knot. 

The first few boys he'd talked into his bed after he'd gotten *basic* control...

Well, his performance had been rudimentary, at best, and it's probable that one of the reasons Amina was *able* to put him off so easily was because he was terrified of *hurting* her. 

But. 

But this — 

This makes him feel like a *man*, especially after all the time he spends these days letting the dog romp with Kitos and Reynard — 

This makes him feel like — not a human. He isn't that and he doesn't *need* that; he'll never need that again, but — 

Still. 

The man in him needs Jason to feel every last *inch* of his cock slamming in, feel it *riding* that pleasure-button, feel it making him *Treville's* even more than he already was — 

"*Yes* —" 

The man in him needs Jason to take this for just as long as they can *both* stand it —

"Ah, *fuck*, amant!" 

Every thrust — 

"Please!" 

Every *ramming* thrust — 

"Please, give me *more*!" 

And Treville jerks for that, spasms — 

He has reflexes for *that* 'more', for the 'more' when he's buried in a ready arse — 

And Jason laughs joyfully, *hungrily* — "Have I earned your knot, brother? Please, please say *yes*!" 

Treville *snarls* — 

Jason immediately bares his throat — 

And Treville can't say no to that invitation, not to any part of it. He darts in and *bites* — and starts *pushing* in — 

"Yes, *yes*, *yes*," Jason says breathlessly, clutching at his back — 

*Clawing* at his back — 

"Please, please, all the way *in* —"

Treville bites *harder* — 

Breaks the skin — 

Takes Jason's hot, rich, *wild* blood — 

_I see you've chosen to ignore my warnings, mage,_ Etrigan says, thunderous in every wrong way — 

But — you haven't seen anything yet, Treville says. Not *either* of you. And he *shoves* his knot in deeper, deeper — 

Slurps that rich blood *down* — 

*Takes* his brother — 

*Has* his brother — 

His *pack* — 

And reaches for his MOTHER — 

"Amant — what are you —" 

And asks for a boon.

The *thrill* of HER pleasure in him is massive, driving, wild — 

He has to stop himself from biting deeper — 

He *doesn't* stop himself from *shoving* deeper — 

Jason *shouts* — 

And then the potato shoots around them are growing woody and thick — 

Becoming vines, becoming *roots* — 

*Binding* Jason by the wrists and ankles — 

"Ah — ah, *fuck* —

And, when Treville breaks off to bite the 'roots', the blood in *their* veins is his and Jason's own. 

Shared. 

*Corrupted*. 

"Amant — *amant*, please —" 

"Shh," Treville says, and shoves *in* —

"UNH — *please* —" 

*In* — almost — 

"Ungh — oh, fuck — oh, fuck, you're so — I can't *move*," Jason says, laughing wildly and writhing, twisting — 

The bite on his throat is *scarring* — 

"For *you*, amant!" 

And Treville growls and can't keep himself from *slamming* in that last little — that — he *howls* — 

And Jason howls with him — 

He has him — 

He has his *brother* — 

And now... he can explain. Hrr. 

Jason pants up at him, eyes wild and staring — he can feel it. He already understands, or thinks he does. 

Hopes he does? 

Oh, Jason... 

Treville licks his lips and nods to the roots on his wrists and ankles. "Three of those *have* to come off when we're done. The fourth one *can* stay on... if you want it to. I know *I* want it to." 

"Your... your mark." 

"Mine." 

"Your — it will *bind* us. *More*, and — and — fuck, I can't *think* —" 

"I think you can, brother," Treville says, leaning in and gripping him by the hair. "I think you know exactly what this means —" 

"Fuck — oh, please *say* it!" 

Treville *grunts* — 

*Flexes* inside Jason — 

And growls more. "You're bloody mine and I'm bloody yours, and we'll never be *free* of each other. We'll always be *tainted* with each other now, blood of each other's *blood* —" 

Jason *groans* — 

"Just as it *should* be. Now will you wear it?" 

Treville *feels* the binding slamming down on the root around Jason's left wrist — 

Feels the weight of it, the *permanence* of it — 

The promise of it. 

Treville grins. "Now you can't get away from me, brother." 

Jason pants and pants and — flushes. "I can't — I can't —" 

"You're mine...." 

"*Yes* —" 

"Now I have to show you *one* of the things that means..." 

Jason *clenches* — 

*Moans* — 

"*Please* —" 

And Treville shoves him down and starts to *rut*, starts to — starts to fuck him *this* way — 

"Oh — *fuck*," Jason says, moaning and writhing in the roots, trying to get into an *easier* position — 

Treville concentrates — 

The roots shove *both* of Jason's legs back, spreading them wide at the same time — 

Jason gasps and *sobs* — 

"There you are. Just — just wide open and *spread* —" Treville growls and ruts and ruts and — 

Jason sobs *more* — 

"You're so beautiful like this, Jason, you —" 

"*Please* —" 

"You're so —" And Treville growls more and *grips* Jason's shoulder with one hand, and his wet, muddy, perfect hair with the other — 

Grips it and holds him down so he can't even toss his *head* — 

"You stay. You *stay*," Treville says, and drives in, in, *in*, gives it to his Jason, his brother, his lover, his *pack*, and Jason is making nothing but noise now, loud and helpless, shameless — 

Beautiful — 

His cock is rising again — 

His body is flushed and darkening with need and *strain* — 

And Treville is sweating in the rain, grinding and groaning, panting and *slamming* — 

His knot is *flexing* — 

He can't — 

He can't keep this *up*, and he wants to keep going until he fertilizes this field for centuries to *come* — 

MOTHER sings in him — 

MOTHER *rides* him for the promise of his seed — 

The earth is churned and alive beneath them — 

He's called HER — 

It's only — natural — 

And he and Jason are laughing into each other's eyes, gasping for it — Jason feels HER, too, now — 

His cock is hard as a *plank* — 

Dripping and spattering both of them — 

It feels like the rain is *steaming* off their needy, grinding *bodies*, and Treville rams in — 

Rams *in* — 

Jason flexes *open* — 

It feels like he's taking Treville even deeper, and Treville howls for it, *howls* for it, flexes and *howls* for it — 

Grips Jason's bollocks and *squeezes* again — 

Jason clenches up tight and *strong* — 

And Treville groans and spurts deep, *deep*, filling his brother's arse and swelling and — not swelling as much as he's expecting to. 

MOTHER is keeping him from doing it — 

MOTHER wants Jason to *leak* — 

Oh — 

Oh, *fuck*, and Treville's groaning, spurting more, *more*, *giving* — 

Jason is laughing and moaning — "You dutiful *son*..."

And it's *necessary* to get his hand on that cock instead, to stroke it fast, *fast* — 

Jason *shouts* — 

To start *rutting* again — 

The way he'd wanted to do with *Amina* — 

"Oh — bloody *hell* —" 

"*Spend* for me," Treville says, growling and feeling needy, hungry, more, *more* — 

Jason groans and shudders and pants and bares his *throat* again — 

Oh — *yes* — 

Treville *bites* — 

Breaks the skin even as he *yanks* that hair and *works* that cock — 

And Jason moans and goes loose *everywhere* but that cock, that perfect, thick cock, which spurts all over both of them, hot and musky and so *rich* — 

So — 

Treville growls and breaks the bite, swiping some of the spend up to taste, groaning and fucking Jason harder, *harder* even as he shakes the rest off onto the ground. 

The earth. 

MOTHER swallows it immediately. 

Treville twitches for the sight — and grins, slowing his aching, aching rut down to a gradual stop. 

Jason moans and stares a little blindly up at the sky — before grinning at him. "Amant..." 

"Lover. Welcome to the family." 

Jason blinks. "I..." He blushes. "Well, I never expected to have a potato *tree* as a wedding ring, but then, I never expected to have a wedding ring, period, so...I'm entirely pleased with this state of affairs," Jason says, and his voice is wry, but his eyes are... soft. 

Treville feels just as soft inside. "I had to make you see. I had to make you *feel*." 

Jason shivers and nods. "You did just that, mon amant. And... much more." 

"So you'll talk to me?" 

"I'll never — there is nothing you'll have to fight me for but that which would hurt you. I promise you that." 

Treville rumbles and leans in, kissing Jason's forehead. 

Jason shivers again. 

"Let's get inside and pretend to be civilized humans." 

"Bite your *tongue* —" 

"Right. Let's get inside and eat some meat." 

"Better, amant. *Much* better." 

Treville slips out, eyeing his oddly *small* knot with some ruefulness — 

"I'm *quite* sure the Mother won't do that often," Jason says, and cleans it — and his cock — for him. 

"Thank you — and I hope not. I'd miss that wonderfully horrible pain when I spend while it's swelling," Treville says, and glamours some clothes onto himself. 

Jason forces the spend out of himself — 

MOTHER takes every *bit* of it *greedily* — 

The potato-field gets even more lush. 

And somewhat... ominous. 

Treville lifts his nose. 

"I don't *think* any of your potatoes are *cursed*. Per se," Jason says, and lounges beautifully among the green. 

He's managed to wash his hair, and it's spread in a vast, profligate corona around his head. Mm. 

"You're welcome." 

Treville rumbles and offers the man his hand.

Jason grins and takes it, and allows himself to be hauled into a clinch as the rest of the roots slither back into the earth — 

Treville kisses him — 

His hair is actively *teasing* Treville — 

You can stop that never, as far as I'm concerned, Treville says, and licks Jason's tongue. 

Jason laughs all through him. (Where did you even *get* this fixation?)

My father managed to collect *three* magnificently competent lieutenants with red or reddish hair. They all had a hand in raising and training me, over the years.

(*Really*.)

I keep telling you, Jason... And Treville nips Jason's lips before pulling back with a wink. "I'm a simple man with simple needs." 

Jason looks at him. 

"Mm?" 

Jason *tugs* on Treville's — and Laurent's — *collar*. The one that's glamoured invisible, but which had been perfectly visible to Jason — and to *Amina* — the whole time. 

"I..." 

"How simple are you, amant? Truly?" 

Treville smiles ruefully and leans in to kiss Jason again. "Simple enough to know when to shut my gob, brother." 

"Hmm. You..." 

"Yes?" 

"I was saying before that the dog in you — and the literal dog in you, of course — simply accepts the facts of your need for a large and romantically *connected* pack —" 

"While the man in me is more — rueful. I know. I know. I can feel you now — more than before, even — and you're about to tell me to listen to the dogs, plural —" 

"*Yes*. The alternative smacks of disingenuousness —" 

"And is worth a punch in the face, I *agree* with you," Treville says, and starts to lead them back to the manor. "But." 

Jason inhales — "You're saying... the man in you... his *hesitation* about your need for such a large pack helps to keep you sensitive to our needs. *All* of our needs." 

"Essentially. Dogs aren't always the best at the *fine* work of sensitivity, lover." 

Jason nods thoughtfully. "I should've known you wouldn't keep such an ultimately *distasteful* thing about yourself without good reason." 

"I appreciate your faith in me —" 

"Everything about you is exceptional, brother. That much was clear... very quickly indeed," Jason says, and smiles wryly. 

Treville feels himself colouring and ducks his head. 

"Yes, *do* keep that gob shut," Jason says, and smiles sharply. "*I* will begin thinking on how else you can maintain your care of us." 

"Believe me when I say —" 

"That you've been doing the same thing?" Jason grins. "That much I'd guessed," he says, and they stare at each other as they walk — 

Stealing glances like randy boys — 

Stealing *kisses* — 

And then Treville feels — it. 

Feels her — 

Amina. 

"You know," Jason says, and licks his lips. "The warrior in me can only work to calculate how much effort it would take to... well. She's the most powerful revenant I've ever come across — that's bad enough. But you — and your brothers — *trained* her." 

"Damned right, we did —" 

"She would *destroy* most mages, whether or *not* they thought they were prepared for her," Jason says, and the raw admiration in his voice — 

The naked *approval* — 

"Guillou must've gotten... oh, almost *nothing* from her, as these things go," Jason says. "She gave her life to her death, as she said, and created something *remarkably* beautiful — and terrible."

Treville barks a laugh. "Lover. Do you want to fuck her or fight her?" 

"Amant. I know we've not had a *long* betrothal —" 

Treville coughs — 

"But have you *ever* known me to *limit* myself?" 

Treville laughs *hard* — 

Jason grins at him — 

And Amina finds them that way when she floats down out of the trees. She's faded somewhat in daylight, but, from a distance, she'd truly only appear to be farther away than she is. And she takes one look at both of them — and the root around Jason's wrist — and smiles with satisfaction. "You gave my husband his *chance*." 

Jason bows. "I did, indeed, sister. I find myself... much warmer for it," he says, standing straight and smiling. 

"This is because I am *always* right. Isn't this so, my husband?" 

Treville is just — looking at her. 

Drinking her in. 

*Having* her *this* way, because he knows she won't let him — or will she? He growls.

She flushes under her faded seeming and growls back — 

"Oh, *dear*," Jason says. "I hesitate to interrupt, truly, but —" 

Amina blinks and draws back — 

Treville blinks and looks to him — 

"It's only that I believe that Amina had something to *say* to you *first*," Jason says, and *snorts*. 

Treville blinks — 

Flares his nostrils for all the mingled scents of Amina on the air — 

All the *dreams* of her scents, every *memory* — 

He shakes himself all over — 

And Amina laughs ruefully. "I think that dogs do not come naturally to self-control." 

Jason raises and *eyebrow* at both of them. "Not *generally*, no." 

Amina nods once. "My husband. Porthos has an ague —" 

"No —" 

"It is *mild*. I can feel that he will heal, but he must not travel so soon. I will lead you to him now so that you can *find* him, and look on him *as* he heals, but... you see?" 

Treville grits his *teeth*, but — but. "I can see him. I can... talk to him?" 

"Amina, your husband might be able to *cure* your son's ague now that the Mother has had Her way with him," Jason says. 

Amina blinks with her wide, dark eyes — "It's so easy to forget things like *hope*, and gods who *care*." 

Jason smiles wryly. "I believe I know a little of how that works," he says. "Will you let me help you both travel?" 

Her seeming almost *stutters* on the air for long moments before it solidifies as much as it can again, and she presses her fingers to her temples. 

"Amina-love? What just happened?"

"I had to convince the magic around Porthos that letting a man like Jason *Blood* near to our son was safe enough to be *allowable*, and that the very thought wasn't terrible enough to require me being back at Porthos's side *immediately*." 

Jason coughs — 

Treville licks his lips — 

"*Yes*," Amina says, and glares. 

"I did bind him?" 

"To *you*, my husband. To *you*. And, for this, that isn't quite good enough," she says, and sighs. "But all is well now. How can you help us travel?"


	4. Wounds.

There is no question, no doubt in Jason's mind, that he must draw back when mother and father approach the child's bed. 

The fact that the child will grow up to be a mage of some little power — 

The fact that the child is his lover's, his brother's — 

This is still not yet his place. 

And there's nothing wrong with that. 

There is no wound in watching from the shadows as Amina calls on *all* the power she took from Treville to make her son able to see her — and *feel* her — as she introduces him to Treville. To his father. 

To — 

"Daddy?" 

"That's right, son," Treville says, in a rough, hungry voice. "That's just right. I've been waiting a long time to see you again..." 

And Jason was wrong. There's a wound for this. 

There's a wound that he wasn't there for every day, every *hour* Treville went without a family, that he couldn't ease that *ache*, erase the *age* in the man's *voice* — 

But...

Jason lets himself fade a little more into the shadows and wait as he strokes the root on his arm. Without the pain, would they truly be brothers? 

It's an ugly thought — too ugly for such a beautiful moment —- and he shoves it away for another time. 

There'll be one.


	5. Amina *might* have some preferences.

Treville had dressed quickly in real clothes and armed himself reflexively before leaving, and now — 

Now he's very glad, because Porthos *loves* soldiers, and wants to *be* a soldier, because Maman always said that was the best thing to be, that his Daddy, his real Daddy, was a soldier, and so were all his friends, and would he get to meet them? 

And when? 

When? 

*When*?

Porthos's voice is froggy with the ague, and he's weak, but he's a big boy, and he's clearly a healthy boy most of the time. 

His hair is all soft curls — looser than Amina's, but still fairly tight — and his eyes are hers, too. So are his cheeks and mouth. 

And his ears, for that matter — 

He's perfect — 

"Well? You have to tell me, Daddy!" 

"You'll meet them all as soon as possible —" 

"But when!" 

Treville grins helplessly. "That depends on when we can get you fixed up. Let's ask your mother," he says, and turns to Amina. "Where *are* we? Whose home is this?" 

"A witch named Yejide's," she says, and smiles ruefully as she strokes Porthos's mildly-fevered brow. He shivers and leans into it instinctively, for all that there's no sign that he can entirely sense her when she's not burning her power *hard*. "She is the one who led you to my body, when she finally *could*."

Treville grunts. He's spent some time wanting to throttle that woman — who had only appeared to Treville in spirit-form, so that there would be nothing to track — 

"But you know *better* now." 

He does. Sort of. "There was —" 

"There was nothing she could do to get word to you — or Ife and Lara and Layo — while I was still alive, my husband. It was all I could do to make myself understood to *her* without endangering our son. You *know* now what bindings that monster placed on us."

Treville grunts again. Bad-naturedly. 

Amina swats him. "You are worrying Porthos!" 

Treville blinks — and Porthos is looking up at him with huge, dark, and, yes, *worried* eyes. 

He can't take that, at *all* — 

He rumbles and rumbles — 

"Oh! What's that sound?" 

"It's — it's a sound I make when I want the people I care about to feel good. Better —"

"Like a dog? A big —" And Porthos coughs a few times — 

Treville rumbles and frowns and rubs Porthos's chest through the thin sheet — the quality is good, as is the quality of everything in this small room, but it's also quite old. Well-worn.

"A big *dog*," Porthos says, with *exactitude*. 

Treville's heart is full. So full. "I *am* a big dog, son." 

If anything, his eyes get even bigger, and he turns to look for his mother — 

She burns more power to make her seeming as solid as possible — "Surprise!" 

Porthos gasps and claps his chubby brown hands, drinking in the sight of his mother for long moments before turning back to Treville. "Show me! *Show* me! Or.." And he frowns. 

"Mm? What is it, son?" 

"Maman had to save things, sometimes. She had to save her *magic*, because the bad man was eating her up." 

Treville debates, for long moments, how much of Guillou's final hour to share... 

"You will share *all* of it with *me*, my husband," Amina says. 

Treville smiles. That's his Amina-love. "I tracked down and killed the bad man —" 

"Like a *hunting* dog? Maman says those are the best!" 

Oh, Amina... 

"I *might* like you a little," she says, and goes back to stroking Porthos's brow. 

Treville grins. "Just like. Here," he says, and shifts his head — 

"*OH*! Oh! Oh —" And then he's off on a coughing fit — 

Treville shifts back — 

And there's an ominous *weight* of presence from downstairs. 

"That would be Yejide, my husband. I told her to expect us, but... well."

"Got it," Treville says, and opens himself to MOTHER — 

There's a moment when it seems like it will be trickier with no green stuff nearby — but then the dog in him *looks* at him — 

*Hard* — 

Right, and also, MOTHER is right there — 

And overjoyed to see that he's been fruitful, if only in blood-magic ways —

He'll know better for next time — 

SHE will find him a good mate — 

Treville tries to point out that he really doesn't need one of those — 

MOTHER tells him to shut it and *puts* his hands on Porthos's cheeks —

He's still coughing — and then he isn't — 

Then he's glowing every green there *is* —

Moaning so high and sweet — 

And MOTHER releases them both — but lingers within Treville for long moments while he watches Amina beam down on her newly-healthy son — 

While he watches Amina shine. 

He asks MOTHER if there's anything else he needs to do, but all SHE does is caress him and show him the paths to HER from *this* place as SHE leaves him again. 

Porthos yawns and settles back against the sheets — they can all feel that he'll need another nap soon after that — 

And Yejide is in the doorway. 

She spares a *long* look for the clutch of shadows in the corner that Jason is quietly inhabiting —

He bows to her — 

She nods back, and then turns to him. "A part of me didn't think you would come, Treville." 

Treville narrows his eyes. "This is my *family*." 

"That hasn't meant so much to a lot of men in your position," Yejide says, and taps the wooden spoon against her hand. It doesn't smell like she was using it to cook anything like food. 

(She is a death-mage, and a pain-mage, and several other different kinds of mage that *all* marinate in *darkness*, mon amant.) 

I did pick that up, but thank you. "Yejide — may I call you that?" 

She nods to him. 

"If I'd had my choice, Amina and Porthos would've been at my side from the beginning. Amina would've been my *wife*, the way she is now, in every way that matters —" 

Yejide laughs hard. "I did *notice* that you'd *consummated* your affair," she says, and shakes her head. "Watch yourself, little French dog. She can *hurt* you now —" 

Treville makes a cutting gesture. "She always could. She always *will* be able to. Yejide, I *thank* you for the comfort and care you've given to my family while I *couldn't* provide it myself —" 

"But I am dismissed? I don't *think* so, dog. They are *my* family, *too*, now," she says, and her smile gets softer as she turns to Porthos, who looks troubled again. "I will never desert my strong little boy. Not ever." 

Treville inhales sharply — and nods. "You will always be welcome in our home."

Yejide laughs hard. "Do you have *many* Yoruba witches tramping in and out of your manor, little dog?" 

Treville shows his teeth. "There were three, once. Only one is still alive — she lives on my properties." 

Yejide blinks — and smiles wryly. And then *inclines* her head. "And I should pay *attention* to how you are made — and to, perhaps, a *few* of Amina's stories about you." 

"You may have *noticed* that I don't *lie* or *exaggerate*, Yejide," Amina says with no little asperity. 

"No, child, you don't," Yejide says, reaching up and — armoring her hand and arm in... something. It's darker — much darker — even than her skin, and shimmers a little painfully to the naked eye. 

(The purview of particularly *adept* death-mages, amant. It allows for her to touch *most* Undead creatures without taking harm to herself.) 

And I take it...? 

(It would kill you painfully. Well, no, I'd save you, but then *I* would kill you painfully for trying something on that *hurt you to look at*.)

Treville coughs — 

Amina *snorts* — 

Porthos frowns, obviously searching for Amina's laughter — he can feel it. 

Treville crouches next to the bed again and points to where Yejide is caressing her with her armored hand. "There, son." 

"I *know*, Daddy. It's when *nobody* is touching her that it's hard." 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I suppose so." 

"Can I get up now? I feel better!" And his voice isn't froggy, at all, anymore, but... 

"You're tired, son. I know you are. You need rest." 

"No!" 

"Yes —" 

"*No*!" 

Yejide, Treville can feel, is waiting to see how he'll handle this. 

So is Amina. 

So is *Jason*, for that matter. Treville smiles. "How about if I stay with you and tell you stories —" 

"Don't want stories! I wanna play!"

(I think I can see the family resemblance already...) 

You shut it. "Hmm. Not even if they're stories about *soldiering*...?" 

Porthos blinks, eyes widening. "Real stories about soldiering? With blood and gooshy stuff?" 

Amina cackles hard. "You do not *know* how many times his Maman stabbed and punched and coshed people for his violent little dreams." 

I think I can *guess*, Treville says, and gets up on the chair again. "*Real* soldiering stories, with all kinds of blood everywhere." 

Porthos smiles hugely — 

Yawns more hugely than that — 

Scrubs at his eyes — "Tell me! Tell me all of them!" 

As it happens, Treville gets through one thorough description of slashing a man's throat — 

Two blisteringly thorough descriptions of Kitos smashing men's noses up into their brains so that they dance their lives away on the ground before shitting themselves and dying —

One femoral artery slash — 

"Spell that!" 

He does — 

And then he gets Porthos's primer for him — 

There are some *fascinating* word-choices in it — 

There are just going to be more. 

He's blinking like an owl and scrubbing at his tearing eyes once they get through femoral, Yejide has left them, and Jason is *sitting* in the corner, not just lurking.

Amina is smiling at him. 

Amina is *happy* with him —

And Porthos pats Treville with his chubby hand every time he gets something right, like, writing out 'femoral' in his primer big enough and with enough spaces between the letters. 

Everything is good. 

"It's just for — for..." 

"Mm?" 

Porthos yawns hugely again, and shakes himself.

"Our son," Amina says. "Ours." 

Treville sighs, heart pounding hard. "Yes." He strokes Porthos's curls. "What is it, son?" 

"'s just for legs? The word?" 

Treville's answered this question before, but — he'll answer it a dozen more times happily. "It's just for this *part* of the leg, son," and rubs his own leg to show. "Where the 'femur'-bone is." 

Porthos nods slowly, sleepy enough to look almost dejected about the whole affair. "Want more stories." 

And — Treville has an idea. "How about an Army *song*?"

More owlish blinks. "Not a song for babies?" 

Treville pooches up his face in an exaggerated scowl. "Only for soldiers. The toughest." 

Porthos nods in approval and lies down, tucking himself in. "You can sing it to me, then. I'll take it."

Treville laughs. "All *right* —" 

"Oh, but..." And Amina pauses, reaching out, but not touching Porthos. 

"What is it, Amina-love?" 

"Ask him... I sing to him when he *sleeps*, my husband. Ask him if he wants me to stop," she says, and bites her lip. 

"Say... Porthos." 

"Mm....? What is it, Daddy?" 

"Your Maman sings to you at night sometimes. I don't know if you can —" 

"I hear her..." He yawns again. "I hear her in my dreams. She keeps me safe." 

Treville swallows and hurts and *needs* — "Are the songs all right?"

"They're all right. I know 's hard for her to talk to me. I miss her stories, though," he says, and yawns again. "I always want the stories, Daddy." 

Treville looks to Amina — 

Amina nods like a *salute* — 

And Treville starts singing a truly obscene — but soft and *slow* — song they all learned in the regular Army designed to help settle the horses and other animals — like the *men* — when conditions weren't the best. 

Amina starts chortling immediately — 

(Oh, *amant*....) 

And Porthos giggles *hard* — but closes his eyes... 

And hums along... 

And starts to snore as *much* as he's humming... 

And is finally simply snoring, drooling a little on his pillow and — perfect. 

Perfect. 

(I used a modicum of my powers of persuasion to convince your servants to ready the bedroom next to yours for him,) Jason says. 

Treville's about to ask *when* Jason had done that, but that would be a *remarkably* stupid question, even for him, considering how focused he's been. 

And still *is* — 

He rumbles and leans in and kisses his boy softly, just on his temple, where the skin is thin. 

His *scents* — 

He *doesn't* smell the same as he did when he was an infant — his diet alone would ensure that — but he smells like... 

(Blood of your — and Amina's — blood, amant...?) 

Treville sniffs a little more, laughing at himself in his head. I'm fully aware of how ridiculous I'm being — 

"No, you're *not*," Amina says, laughing hard enough to make Porthos smile in his sleep. "And it is *wonderful*." 

(It truly is,) Jason says, warm and soft. (How I ever managed to get myself attached to a *family* man, I'll never know...) 

Well, it started with you getting *detached* from your limbs in my turnip field...

Amina snickers — "Stop, stop, we will wake him. Our boy is sensitive," she says, scolding both of them equally — 

And Jason looks positively stunned to be included in that, but... well. 

He's got a rude awakening coming if he thinks Amina *won't* be introducing him to Porthos once he's settled in a *little* bit. 

(I — what —) 

"You are a *part* of this family, old brother. You will *act* like it and be a part of our boy's life. And he will sit on your lap and demand terrible stories." 

(Well... I... I'm qualified for *those*...) 

"Yes! And you will *teach* him." 

(Certainly... certainly, I can teach him various ways to protect himself... I... *Amina*.") 

"Yes, old brother?" And her smile is vicious and sharp and — so settled. 

So *happy*. 

"What *is* it?" 

Jason searches her with a wild look in his eyes — (You actually mean what you say...) 

"I *always* do." 

Jason swallows and stands — 

Swallows again — 

Gestures somewhat *hugely* — and shadows *take* Porthos, and what looks like most of his bedding. 

Treville will send it back, and more, and — 

"You will *ask* Yejide if she *needs* anything, my husband." 

"I — hm. When next she deigns to speak to me?" 

"*Exactly*." 

"Very well, Amina-love. Say, is there a way for me to put a ring on you... somewhere...?" 

She coos at him as Jason drags the *cocoon* of their son into the smudge on the air — 

And then she shows herself adorned with gold, gold round her neck, round her wrists, round her strong ankles — 

She spins — 

The bangles tinkle like a dancer's — 

Treville growls and *moves* for her — 

She laughs and *pushes* at the air between them — and Treville is knocked back a bit. 

"Well, that's a neat trick." 

"Isn't it? Remember to look at *nothing*, my husband." 

"I —" 

"*Do* listen to your wife," Jason says, from just inside the smudge. "Transporting a sleeping — and *dreaming* — mage through the shadow-realm is a bit trickier than some of the things I do." 

"I — oh. Should we —" 

"All will be well, my husband," Amina says. "I can *feel* that Jason will protect Porthos." 

"With my life," he says quietly. "Come." 

Treville — rumbles helplessly. 

Rumbles and rumbles and — follows. 

He doesn't succeed at looking at nothing, but — 

The bangles on Amina's long throat — 

The root on Jason's wrist — 

The shifting miasma of screaming reaching clawing — 

He looks at the root. 

He looks at the bangles — 

He steps *out* of the smudge, and into the bright, freshly-cleaned bedroom next to his own — 

He gasps — 

"Old brother." 

"Yes, Amina?" 

"*Slap* my husband." 

"Happily," Jason says, and smacks the back of his head. 

"*Ow* —" 

"What did we *tell* you, my husband." 

"What do I *always* tell you?" 

"I — I just wanted to check on my *boy* —" 

"He is like a dog in a *cart*," Amina says, staring at him with her hands on her hips — 

She has plain gold rings on her fingers — 

Treville wants to *feel* — 

"— blindfold him?" 

Wait, what?

Amina snorts *loudly*, lifting one ringed hand to her face — 

Treville *growls* — 

"*Down*," she says. 

"Amina-love —" 

"We have to tuck Porthos *in*. Again," she says, and giggles sweetly, happily, joyfully —

And she's absolutely right. 

He's just afraid to look at the cocoon again. 

A little. 

A *little* — 

*Jason* snorts — 

"I don't want to *hear* it — 

"Shh," Jason says, and then — gestures. 

And Porthos is tucked in, in the big, soft bed — 

There's no sign of the cocoon of dead and screaming souls — 

There's — 

Everything is safe. 

Treville moves to Porthos's bedside and sniffs, just to be sure — 

His son is definitely dreaming. He has that warmth, that scent of dozy concentration, that dreamers have. 

He. 

He's here. 

He's home.

He's home, and Treville has to show him — 

Teach him — 

Touch him and — and sniff —

Curl in and — 

No, no — he breaks away, turns back to Amina and Jason — 

I — I have to send riders to Laurent, to Kitos and Reynard...

(I... *may* have used my powers of persuasion that way, as well...)

Treville flushes — and looks up. Jason...

Jason smiles wryly. (If I can't anticipate you *sometimes*, then I'll go absolutely starkers, mon amant.) 

Treville swallows, and crosses the room, and wraps his arms round Jason, hugging him tight. 

Jason hugs him back, and kisses his cheek. (I'm anticipating something else...) 

Oh, fuck... 

Amina hums — and traces his collar with her fingertip, making it icy and heavy and *wonderful*. "He is the *dog's* son, too." 

Treville *blinks*. I...

But the pull he feels is undeniable. 

The pull he feels is — is — 

Pack. 

(Just so, amant,) Jason says, turning Treville into a soft kiss. (Go, nap with your son. Amina and I will discuss what else needs to be done with your —)

"*Our*," Amina says, hard and undeniable. "*Our* home." 

Jason grunts — and laughs. (As you say, Amina,) he says, and pulls back from Treville — 

Treville grins at both of them — 

Licks Jason — 

Kisses Amina *once*, feeling the draw, the *drain* of it *immediately* — 

Her soft lips — 

Her sharp teeth — 

She pulls back. "My husband. My *mate*." 

Treville growls — and shifts. 

The dog shakes. It's quiet, except for the snoring — 

New sound. 

Child-sound — 

Child-smells — 

But. 

The scents around him are also of a mate he hasn't *had* in many years, and she is here and not-here, she is *dead* and here, and he can't touch her. 

He whines quietly.

She crouches so they can be on the same level. "*One* day I will have *changed* enough and we will *run* together, sweet brother," she says, and lolls her tongue. 

Oh!

Sister! Dog-sister! 

The dog wags and wags and dances around her — 

Nips at the scents she leaves on the air — 

She laughs and leaves more — 

Leading him to the bed — 

Leading him to the child-scents, child-sounds. 

Man-child, witch-child — 

Oh — but...

Oh...

His! His!

The dog leaps up on the bed — lightly, lightly, the child is *sleeping* — and sniffs better, sniffs more — 

Smells himself!

"*Our* son, my mate. *Ours*."

The dog turns and whuffs at her quietly. He doesn't remember. He doesn't *know*!

"It happened while you were Treville, and he almost *never* shifted back then." 

The dog whines. He didn't get to lick the pup clean. He didn't get to warm his mate when she was big. He didn't get to bring her *meat*. These are important things! Treville — 

(Treville missed all too many of them, too, due to circumstances beyond his control. He *would* have shared,) his Jason says. 

The dog cocks his head — 

But. 

But... this is the first time the child has been here, and the *dog* is also here. 

This is the first time he is wearing the collar of the hungry man — he can feel that it's his! — and the dog is also here. 

His dog-sister has not returned here more than two or three times — he can feel that, too — and the dog is also here. 

His *Jason* has not been wearing their mark for very long, at *all*... and the dog is also here. 

Treville *is* sharing. 

Treville *will* give. 

His dog-sister reaches out and strokes the air by his ears, making them twitch with the cold. "We are *all* pack now." 

Yes. Yes, that is right. Where js his Kitos? His Reynard and his — what is *his* name? What is his dog-sister's name?

His dog-sister laughs hard and blows him a shivery kiss that makes him rumble. "I am *Amina*." 

Amina Amina Amina! His Amina. 

"Yours," she agrees. 

(The man whose collar you wear is named Laurent. I *strongly* suspect he'll visit soon,) his Jason says, leaning against the wall by the door and smiling 

Laurent. 

Laurent — 

And Treville reaches from within him, offering different images of the hungry man, of Laurent, than the ones the dog has, offering images of Laurent smiling, sweaty, naked, reaching for them — 

Reaching for their *collar* — 

("Give me everything about you, little brother. Give me — give me every doggish *thing*.") 

The dog blinks — 

His Jason laughs. (I gave Laurent that collar for you for a *reason*, hound...) 

The dog will have to think about that. 

Later. 

Now is for the boy, their boy — 

"Porthos," his Amina says. 

Porthos Porthos Porthos Porthos!

Still snoring, still sleeping — not dreaming anymore. They've woken him a little. 

They have to be careful. 

The dog curls up behind him softly, softly — 

The dog tucks his nose into his Porthos's curls — 

The dog can smell his Amina's tears, and his Amina's happiness, and his Amina's *hunger*, and these are all correct and all — 

They make him hungry, too. 

She floats above them, and kisses the air above the dog's cheek, and kisses his Porthos directly. 

They are bound. 

They can do that. 

He should be able to touch his Amina!

For a moment, MOTHER roils in him, *hears* his plea, *aches* with him — 

MOTHER always does. 

MOTHER always does. 

The dog is soothed. 

The dog breathes in his Porthos's many good scents and closes his eyes.


	6. Spousal Bonding.

After discussing the various adjustments which can and should be made to the manor now that Porthos has arrived, Jason and Amina settle in the study, which is dark and gloomy and *relentlessly* masculine. 

Amina makes a face at Jason's choice immediately — 

And Jason laughs. "I apologize. Treville told me this was his father's favorite room, and I.. well..." 

"You want to know *more* about that man?" 

Jason raises an eyebrow. "I do *now*." 

Amina laughs and pretends to settle herself on one of the desperately hard chairs. "You did *before*, old brother. You are hoping I *know* and will *tell*." 

"You also shine beautifully in the deathly *pall* of this room." 

"Flatterer," she says, unwinding her scarf and letting it fly away into nothingness. Her hair is a soft cloud above her head, and she is... 

She is lovely.

She smiles at him. "He will answer these questions for you himself, you know." 

"I'd like *your* perspective." 

"Yes...? Very well. The man was not there, and not there, and not *there*. But! When he *was* there, he was kind, and smart, and loving, and fair, and gentle, and... how to say this..." She taps her lip. Her fingers are still ringed. 

"Do you like that much jewellery?" 

"I honestly do not know! I always had to work too hard to even *consider* wearing so much. You know our Treville, he offered to adorn me more than once." 

"And to stop you from working, I imagine," Jason says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"I could not. I was..." 

"Too full of doubt?" 

"Just so," she says, and smiles sadly. "But — our husband's *father*." 

"Yes, do tell," Jason says, seating himself and not even bothering not to sprawl. 

She snorts at him — and sprawls, as well. 

They grin at each other — 

And she inclines her head. "Very well. He was... *big*. Very big. You know how it is that when our Treville walks into a room, or a tavern, or *anywhere*, conversation will stop and heads will *turn*, yes?" 

"Oh, yes. He's a leader of men, as is his Laurent." 

"Ours. We will make *him* ours, too." 

Jason laughs softly. "I'm going to have to appeal for new citizenship if this keeps up." 

Amina shows her sharp teeth. "You like *prudent* women, old brother. What is more prudent than loving the men one's husband loves?" 

"Murdering them subtly?" 

"*That* only works when your husband is not a *passionate* man who bleeds forever for every *loss*," she says, wagging a scolding finger — and nothing else. 

He raises that eyebrow higher. 

"Did you expect something else? I was raised by *witches*, not *nuns*, old brother. They saw that I loved our husband. They saw that nothing could take me from his *side*. So. We *all* looked into the matter. Looked into his *heart*. And saw the truth of it," she says, and spreads her hands. 

"And yet you still couldn't —" 

"Remember, old brother — the truth was different once. Not *so* different, perhaps, as these things go, but different enough to feed into a young girl's doubts. He always loved me. He did not always *crave* me, as I craved him." 

Jason — takes a breath. "He did tell me that." 

She nods. 

"It's frankly impossible to keep that in *mind* —" 

She laughs again. "His desire for me is its *own* magic. Its own *breed* of magic. He could enslave *nations* by *looking* at their people with that — that —" 

"That *hunger* —" 

"That honest, deep —" 

"All-encompassing, *reckless* —" 

"*Heedless* —" And Amina laughs more, raucous and bright. "You *see*."

"The first time I saw a *glimmer* of that want... well. I was sniffing after him *pathetically* in a truly brief period of time," Jason says, and makes a disgusted sound. 

"We women, we have ways to make it *seem* like they're sniffing after us, at least. This gives us some little pride to warm our cold beds at night," she says, and sighs. "I was honestly considering fucking his friends, you know. Or do you know that story...?" 

"Bits of it, yes. They met you first, yes? At the teahouse where you were employed?" 

"*Oh*, yes. And I thought, well, the wild one will be a wild *ride*, but will almost certainly not be worth more than one or *two* rides." 

"That does seem to be Reynard's pattern with women, yes." 

"Mm. And then there was the *big* one, with the big *laugh*, and the careful hands, and men like that... well, they can be very special." 

Jason grins. "Certainly, I've found them so." 

She winks at him. 

Jason laughs — 

"Still, though. All temporary. Not *lover* material, either of them. They did not look at me *that* way... until *he* arrived, and looked at me like I had hung the *moon*... and looked at his brothers the same way, but with *heat* added." 

"Ah. This changed your plans dramatically." 

"Scattered them like.." She gestures as if blowing on a dandelion. "He walked in that way that night. Stopping everything. *Changing* everything. *Demanding* everything, even though all he was doing was asking politely for tea and laughing and joking with his brothers — and me," Amina says, and smiles wryly. "*That* is his father. Only in our husband's mind, he is much, much bigger than this, too." 

Jason inhales — and nods. "The general. The winner of nobility. The... purposeful man." 

"All of those things. *Especially* that last thing, even though, if you ask him, he will share a dozen memories of his father stopping what he was doing to play games with his son, of his father drunk and telling loud and obscene stories with his lieutenants, of his father squeezing him tight-tight-tight in front of a fire while at *least* two bottles were passed round —" 

"That... I do wonder, specifically, about that." 

Amina smiles sharply. "Certainly, it is one of the things which is said about men who bugger boys — and those men's fathers." She spreads her hands. 

"You didn't *ask* that question?" 

"Oh, I *did*! He was a ravenous *beast* with the boys sometimes — or so it seemed to my woefully-un-ravaged cunt." 

Jason *snorts* — 

And Amina laughs more, laying herself out on her side on a cushion of nothingness. "He said no, and I believed him. He was too wry, too knowing, too knowing of exactly *why* I was asking... well. Our husband, he does not hide from himself." 

Jason nods and pulls a bottle of wine out of one of his storage cupboards. He pours himself a drink, and — sighs. "I badly wish we could drink together. I owe you dearly for starting us on *this* road." 

"You will die someday, old brother. You'll pay me then." 

Jason laughs and toasts her. "Salut." 

She toasts him back with a smoky tumbler of something even smokier. "And to you." 

They drink.


	7. He's not a *baby*.

The dog wakes when his Porthos turns in his sleep and *whacks* him with his small, heavy hand. 

It doesn't hurt, but it's jarring, because it feels nothing like rolling in dead leaves, mushrooms, and other, stinkier, dead things. 

Good dreams. 

The dog licks his Porthos's hand to see if he's all right — 

His Porthos makes a little fist — 

The dog licks that — 

His Porthos laughs in his sleep. and opens his fist. And snores. 

They go back to sleep. 

~

The dog wakes up because his Porthos is petting him very slowly and firmly with his soft, heavy hand. 

This is good. 

This is very good!

The dog pushes his head into it — 

His Porthos giggles and pets him with *both* hands — "Daddy!" 

Daddy? Is that his name? Or — 

Is that a *special* word? A claiming-word, like mate or sister or — 

He whuffs to ask his Porthos. 

"Mm? What is it, Daddy?" And his Porthos scratches his ears, very nice, a little too soft, but very nice — "Do you have to go out? Maman says that dogs need lots of ex-er-cise, and to go out when they do. Is that it?" 

The dog cocks his head — but. 

His Porthos is a child-witch. 

Porthos doesn't have full control of his powers, or his sensitivity. 

Porthos might not *know* he can hear the dog. 

The dog whuffs again, quiet and careful and pointed, and *looks* at his Porthos. You have to hold a pup's attention to teach them. 

His Porthos blinks, eyes getting bigger — "Oh. I guess you don't have to go out. I guess..." 

The dog smiles, panting. 

His Porthos laughs, high and sweet, petting him more. "You're not like other dogs." 

He isn't?

And then MOTHER shows the dog images of other dogs running and playing and sleeping and guarding simple things, and leading simple lives, and knowing hardly any man-words, at all. 

Oh. He's not like other dogs. The dog leans in and licks his Porthos's cheeks. 

His Porthos laughs more — and hugs him. "Daddy!"

'Daddy' *is*, the dog decides, a claiming-word. He likes it. He sniffs into his Porthos's hair and licks his scalp. 

"*Daddy* — oh — you — you'll get hair all over your tongue!" 

His Porthos seems to think this is a problem. The dog will teach him better. 

His Porthos laughs breathlessly and tumbles away, smiling bright and broad and shaking himself like a good boy. 

The dog also shakes, and waits to see if his Porthos will ask in one of the ways he knows to play. 

The last time the dog was out, his Kitos had presented him with a big, tough leather ball, and that was wonderful. Maybe there's another? 

It might be too big for his Porthos's hands, but — 

"Maman said I'd have a dog one day, you know," his Porthos says, like he's telling a secret. 

The dog cocks his head to the side. 

"Yes! She said he'd be big and strong and brown and nice, just like you!" 

The dog whuffs. He's here!

"She didn't say the dog would *be* my Daddy," his Porthos says, and draws patterns with his fingertips on the sheets. 

The dog sniffs at them — they don't seem to be anything. He looks up again. 

"She didn't say she'd be dead first, either." his Porthos says, and his scents are prickling and sad, hurt, upset — 

The dog croons and moves close — 

His Porthos hugs him again. "Maman said I could be sad when she died. She *said*. But it feels silly, since she's still here. I just can't see her most of the time, or — or, or hear her..." 

Maman, the dog now knows, is another word — a claiming-word — for Amina. He also knows...

The dog croons and licks his Porthos's face slowly and encouragingly. 

He knows his Porthos has to speak. 

His Porthos sniffles, scrubbing at his nose. "Did you..." 

The dog croons a question. 

"You couldn't get to... to us. Before Maman was dead." 

The dog whines. This is a hurtful thing for him, too — 

His Amina is his *mate*, his sister —

He whines more — 

And his Porthos nods and licks the dog's nose. "The bad man made everything *wrong*." 

And the scents of death-magic in his Porthos's memory for that take him back to the place of many revenants, many undead *things* — and their death-mage master. He and Treville and his Jason had destroyed him. 

For a long time, the dog hadn't understood why Treville and his Jason had needed to take so much *time* doing it... but. 

Now he knows. He licks his Porthos again, and shares the scents and images from the death-mage's home.

The pools of blood. 

The single eye. 

The single ear. 

The mangled human sheath —

His Porthos gasps and shudders and draws back and back and — 

The dog whuffs confusedly — 

His Porthos bites his lip hard and starts to shake his head. His scents are fearful and a little *sick*. He —

The dog sits on his haunches and cocks his head to the side. 

"Um." 

The dog croons more. Gently. Encouragingly...

"That — that's what you did to the bad man?" 

The dog whuffs and shows his Porthos Treville. 

His Porthos frowns. "You're... not the same? You're *not* my Daddy?" 

And then his Jason is knocking on the door — 

And his Amina is floating in *fast*, cupping his Porthos's *face* — 

His Porthos shivers — "M-Maman? You're here?" 

"I *am*, sweet boy, what's *wrong*?" And she's petting him *frantically* — 

His Porthos is *shuddering* — "Maman, I'm all *right* — and who's he — are you one of Daddy's friends?" 

His Jason laughs softly from the doorway. "Perhaps we might ask the hound....?"

The dog whuffs. And shares with his Amina and his Jason — and *not* his Porthos again — what he had previously shared about 'the bad man'. 

"Oh... dear," his Jason says. 

His Amina *winces*. 

The dog croons and backs up. That was wrong? He was bad? 

And his Porthos immediately comes to hug him again. "Don't be mad at Daddy! He didn't know it would hurt me!" 

The dog shivers — 

The dog buries his nose in his Porthos's curls — 

The dog watches his Amina and his Jason look at each other — and then nod. 

"You... might have to let Treville explain this one, hound," his Jason says, and — 

And the dog doesn't want to *go*, yet — 

The dog doesn't want to leave his *boy* — 

"It will not be forever, or for *very* long," his Amina says, and smiles ruefully. "We are not *punishing* you, my mate. I promise." 

Oh — oh. That *is* what he was afraid of. 

He pulls back from his Porthos and licks his face all over, licks his love and apologies — 

His Porthos laughs so — 

So *wonderfully* — 

And then the dog can jump down off the bed and — shift. 

"Oh... shit," Treville says, and turns to his wonderful boy — "I'm sorry about that, Porthos —" 

"No! It's all right! I was upset about the bad man and you wanted to make me feel better." 

And that's *true*, but... 

Porthos frowns, wiping excess doggy-saliva from his face. "No? What's wrong with that? And who *is* that?" 

"Right, first things first," Treville says, and gestures Jason *into* the room before wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "This is Jason Blood. He's the mage who *helped* me find and kill Guillou — the bad man —" 

"*Oh*!" 

"He's also one of my *brothers* and *lovers*." 

Porthos nods thoughtfully.

Treville raises his eyebrows —

Porthos just looks at him. 

"You have to give him time to think about some of these things, my husband," Amina says, soft and amused. 

Right, then. "Jason is also going to be one of your teachers. We'll *all* be teaching you — everything we can think of *to* teach you — but Jason is over six hundred years old —" 

Porthos blinks, jaw dropping — 

"— so it's a fair bet that he'll have the most for you," Treville says, and smiles. "All right?" 

"Yes, Daddy! Hello, Jason!" 

Jason smiles quirkedly. "Hello to you, too, Porthos. It is an absolute *pleasure* to make your —" 

"Where are you *from*? What part of the countryside?" 

Jason blinks — and grins. "Can you guess?" 

"No! You don't sound like *any* of the country-people who come to Paris! Not even the ones from all the way in the south!" 

Treville rubs at his mustache with his finger — and hangs his weapons-belts so he can actually sit on the bed, once he gets Jason a chair for *next* to the bed. 

Jason *looks* at him — 

Welcome. To. The family, Treville says — 

And Amina laughs meanly, combing her ringed fingers through Porthos's hair while he shivers and smiles. 

"Well? Where *are* you from, Jason?" 

"I'm from *England*, Porthos —" 

"*Really*?" 

Jason laughs quietly. "Yes, I'm quite surprised to be spending this much time in France, myself —" 

"Don't you like it here?" 

Jason *blinks* — and sits — 

Treville sits on the bed and takes his boots off, then swings his legs up and sets Porthos on his lap — 

"Daddy! I'm too big!" 

"Not a bit of it. Not for *years*, yet." 

"But I was too heavy for Maman sometimes at... at the end..." 

Treville rumbles and squeezes him tight. "That's just because of the bad man. Your Maman was strong. *Is* strong." 

"She. She... is?" 

"Oh, yes," Jason says. "She's by far the strongest revenant I've ever *seen* — and she keeps finding ways to make herself stronger." 

"I will find *all* the ways," Amina says, and brushes an errant tear from Porthos's cheek. 

"That's *right*, you will, Amina-love — and we'll help," Treville says, and turns to Porthos. "Your Maman is promising to make herself even stronger for you. She's *never* going to leave you." 

Porthos shivers and sniffles, tugging on the hair on Treville's arms. 

Treville smiles softly. "Do you miss the dog's fur, son?" 

"What? Oh! I'm sorry!" 

"Don't you dare apologize, I like it." 

"I... all right..."

"You don't believe me?" And Treville sniffs his boy a little, finding confusion, sadness, worry — 

Treville rumbles and rumbles — 

Strokes Porthos's chubby arms and squeezes them — 

"I wonder," Jason says, slowly, "if Porthos isn't confused about the... differences between you and the dog. Among other things." 

Treville rumbles more. "The dog is and isn't me, son. We can see the same thing, and think two different things about it. Not always, but sometimes." 

"You... you wouldn't have told me about Guillou," Porthos says, quietly. 

"Not like that. I would've described what I'd done, checking on you constantly to make sure you were still all right. The dog couldn't do that, and wouldn't really think to even if he could. Though I think he'll *try* to think that way now." 

Porthos frowns hard, tucking his chin. "'m not a *baby*." 

"No, you're not —" 

"I don't want — 'm not a *baby*." 

Treville rumbles more and licks Porthos's cheek helplessly — 

"*Oh* —" 

"You're not a baby and I'm not — entirely — a dog. But... there are a few things we need that are the same, maybe?" 

Porthos's scowl could crumble a brick wall. 

Jason coughs. 

Amina snorts *hard* — 

And Treville smiles wryly. "Didn't like that one? All right. How about —" 

"'m not. A. Baby!" 

Treville opens his mouth — and closes it. 

And licks his lips. 

And frowns. 

Porthos starts to wriggle *out* of his lap, which is *terrible* — 

"Let him go, for now," Amina says, and leans in, burning power so that Porthos might see her — 

"Oh — Maman —" 

"None of us will treat you like a baby," she says, speaking slowly so that he might read her lips. 

"But — but —" 

"Caring for you — not *hurting* you — is not the same as treating you like a baby, my sweet boy," she says, and — flickers —

"Oh — no, Maman, don't use all your power!" 

Treville opens his mouth — 

But Jason reaches over and touches her arm before Treville can say anything. "Your mother has other sources of energy now, Porthos." 

Treville croons helplessly — 

Amina looks at Jason with shocked *gratitude* — 

And Jason smiles and blushes. "We are... a family. Are we not?" 

"We *are*," Treville says, and adds his energy to Jason's own — 

And then Amina *pushes* them back, bright and *powerful*. "That is enough, my brothers. I will treat this gift with care —" 

"It's always yours, Amina," Jason says — 

"Oh —" She growls and *flares* in solidity for Porthos — 

"Maman! You're so — so *here*!" 

"Yes, sweet boy, thanks to your Uncle Jason and to your Daddy, *who only want the best for you*," she says, and wags her finger. "You do not wish to be a baby? I will tell you, my sweet boy, that babies hide from care, and refuse what is *good* for them, and *fight* their parents —" 

"I won't! I *won't* —" 

"I *know* you won't, and you never *have*, but you must be careful, sweet boy: You have many feelings right now, many big and *painful* feelings, and they will *lie* to you if you let them." 

"Maman? I... don't..." 

"Shh. Your big feelings, your sadness, your anger, your confusion — they all tell you that you are missing something important, yes?"

"*You*, Maman! I'm — I don't have you! And I know you're right here, and I shouldn't — shouldn't be greedy, or — or —" 

"Oh, my sweet *boy*," Amina says, and sweeps Porthos up, squeezing him tight while he can feel her strong arms — which isn't nearly long enough. 

They can all feel that. 

They — 

Jason is reaching for her again — 

Treville's *arms* ache — 

He knows Amina's do, too.

"Listen. *Listen*, my sweet boy," she says, cupping Porthos's face while he shivers and shivers. "I am greedy for *you*. I miss holding you every *minute*!" 

"Oh, Maman, I —" 

"Shh, wait, *wait*. These feelings of yours, these — these *terrible* feelings — you have *earned* them. They are *yours*. They are *right*. I was stolen from you, and you were stolen from me —" 

"And — and — you were stolen from Daddy and Yejide and Jason, too!" 

Amina smiles painfully. She's weeping again. "I was, my sweet boy. And you will see... the others..." She bites her lip and shakes her head once. "But you must remember *who* did the stealing. *Who* did the bad things —" 

"The bad man! He did it! He did all of it!" 

"That's *right*, my sweet boy —" 

"And — and Daddy and Jason *killed* him and — made a *mess*!" 

"Yes, they *did* —" 

"'m sorry I got scared..." 

"Shh, no, I *promise* that the things your Daddy and Jason did to the bad man would scare even many other *soldiers*." 

Porthos blinks and stares, even as he shivers. "*Really*? But — but *they're* soldiers. Aren't they?" 

"We are," Jason says, and smiles wryly. "But we are other things, as well."

Porthos opens his mouth — 

"I promise you we'll tell you *all* about it another time," Jason says. 

"We truly will, son," Treville says, and wipes his eyes. "Mind your Maman, now." 

Porthos bites his lip and nods, turning back to Amina. "I have to — have to — remember who the bad people are!" 

"Yes, my sweet boy. My *good* boy," Amina says, and strokes his hair, his cheeks, his neck. "And you have to remember who the *good* people are." 

"Because they would never hurt me! And — and — they would never do bad things!" 

Amina wags her head. "We *all* do bad things sometimes, sweet boy. But your family will always, always *try* not to hurt you, and will always, always listen when you tell them that they *are* hurting you, so that they can *stop*. That is one of the things that *makes* them your family." 

Porthos frowns very seriously and thinks about it. 

Amina waits, and pets him. 

"'s. 's what family means? That... we all take care of each other?" 

"Yes —" 

"And we all make each other feel good?" 

"*Yes*, sweet boy —" 

"And we all make each other *strong*!" And Porthos looks back and forth among them all. 

"That's *right*," Treville says — 

And Jason laughs. "Absolutely, Porthos. A family — a *pack* — is *only* as strong as its weakest member, after all."

Porthos stares wonderingly at Jason — and a little worriedly. 

Amina swats Jason — and then *sweeps* Porthos up into the air for a moment. "My sweet boy is strong, strong, *strong*!"

"Maman!" 

"And you will *keep* us *all* strong *forever*," she says — and sets Porthos on Treville's lap. 

(Hmm. Remind me to have Amina teach me rudimentary lessons in speaking to children for approximately the next fifty-eight years,) Jason says. 

Absolutely, Treville says, and squeezes Porthos tight while he giggles —

Sniffs his hair — 

He smells like happiness — 

Security — 

Relief — 

Pleasure — 

And something *like* satisfaction, but not quite it. Treville buries his nose in Porthos's hair and rumbles and rumbles and — 

And Porthos's belly rumbles — 

And Treville's belly rumbles — 

And Porthos belches and giggles more — 

And Treville tries on one of his truly window-rattling belches — 

Porthos *shrieks* a giggle and claps. "That's almost as good as Maman's!" 

Treville blinks — 

"I had time to practice, and *much* motivation, my husband." 

Porthos looks at Jason expectantly. 

Jason leans back in his chair. 

Grins. 

And belches out a cloud of actual brimstone. 

"EWWW!" And Porthos giggles and coughs and snorts, waving his chubby arms —

"Fucking *hell*, Jason —" 

"*Literally*," Jason says, laughing hard — and sucking the brimstone back in. "What do I win?" 

"A trip to the *latrines*. Bloody buggering — *augh* —" 

"*Now* who's being a baby," Jason says, and winks at Porthos. 

"Daddy is! Daddy is!" And Porthos giggles and jumps down from Treville's lap — 

"*Hey* —" 

"I want supper! What's for supper?" 

"Well, I — let's find out, mm?" 

Supper turns out to be a *feast* — Porthos is no more goggle-eyed than Treville is, considering the fact that there's actual pastry hidden in all that roast beast, and more kinds of vegetables than Treville thought Cook had *heard* of, and —

And Cook is giving him an *evil* look, so he just thanks the man and gets his family settled.

Porthos likes the rabbit best, except that he likes the carrots roasted in pig-fat with cinnamon best, except that he likes the actual pig best, all of it, every bit, except that he likes all of it best, and Treville has never *seen* a child that small eat that *much*, but it's the most beautiful sight he *has* ever seen, and Amina has to swat him to keep him from feeding Porthos even more when he starts swaying and blinking owlishly again. 

"Do you think he'll be Kitos's size when he's an adult?" And Jason is asking both him and Amina — 

And, really, they *know* Porthos is done in — he doesn't even peep for the unfamiliar name — just takes another sip of his heavily-watered wine. 

Amina takes a drink of her smoky stuff — she has yet to tell either of them what it actually is. "I am surprised that *you* do not have a way to tell, old brother." 

"Oh, I do... with children that age who *aren't* wrapped round and round in countless protective spells," Jason says, and grins. "When I try to look at Porthos with my third eye, even knowing who and where he is, I see nothing and no one, at all. You did a truly *remarkable* job, Amina." 

She inclines her head and strokes Porthos's hair — 

He shivers — 

And she settles back, seemingly against the chair next to Porthos's, which is, in turn, to the right of Treville's. Jason had taken the chair to the left. 

It's unorthodox enough to make the part of him which *is* Laurent twitch a bit, but... Treville can also see how it will all... work, once the others are all *here*. 

Laurent and Marie-Angelique at the foot with their boys, Kitos and Reynard rounding things out... or. 

Amina glitters at him a little — 

A little *dangerously* — 

That *wrong* light is in her eyes — 

Treville turns away and winces — 

"What — oh — *shit*," she says, and Treville can feel *her* turning away...

"It's all right, Amina-love —" 

"It obviously crept up on you again," Jason says — 

Porthos blinks and frowns. "What... what crept up? Is something wrong with Maman?" 

How to answer that?

"Sometimes your mother's eyes are a little dangerous for your Daddy and me to look at. It's nothing for *you* to be concerned about, however," Jason says, and sets his wine down. 

Well, simple honesty works — 

Especially since Porthos is just nodding thoughtfully again — 

And Amina is — sitting up. And looking at them both through *spectacles*. 

"Um." 

Little, round, gold spectacles — 

"Well?" 

"I..." 

The glass is smoked —

And Jason is laughing brightly. "Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful." 

She takes a bow. 

Treville leans round behind Porthos's chair and kisses her hand, feeling the little drain — "Wear *all* the bloody rings, Amina-love." 

"I *will*," she says, laughing and taking her hand back. "And I was taken from my blood-family when I was very small — most of them fought the slavers and were killed for it — but I know stories about them from the few other girls from my tribe I was allowed to stay with before we were *all* scattered. They were *big* people, for the most part. How big, I do not know. I was not fed so well when I was a child. *All* people know that changes how the babe grows." 

"No, they don't, Amina-love —" 

"I said all *people* know, my husband — not all *Frenchmen*." 

Treville splutters — 

Jason laughs and bows. "You *really* have to wonder what on earth Kitos would've looked like if his family hadn't struggled for every bite to eat."

Treville raises his eyebrows. "He talked to you about that?" 

"While you were *frolicking* with Reynard as the dog, yes," Jason says, and laughs more. "*I* was about as well-fed as it was possible to *get* at the time, and, well..." Jason shrugs. 

"You are more than big *enough*, old —" 

And there is a *thud* — and a snore. Porthos's little face is mushed *mostly* next to the butter. 

Mostly. 

"Oof, we have lost our sweet boy," Amina says, and pets him. 

Treville lifts him *high* — 

Shifts enough to lick his face *thoroughly* — 

Porthos never *stops* snoring — 

Back to bed with him they go. 

"I could —" 

"*Don't* offer your shadows, old brother. Not while our fool of a husband is *holding* Porthos!" 

"Oh — Diana's thousand *teats*, I apologize —" 

"I'm not *useless* over here," Treville says — quietly — as they head for the stairs — 

They ignore him completely. 

Just — utterly. 

Fine. 

Treville hitches Porthos more comfortably in his arms and follows them up, watching them talk with each other — 

Watching them *know* each other — 

Watching them *make* each other kin. More kin. *Better* kin. 

It's heat in his chest, and other places, too. 

It's a thick wall to try to *breathe* through — 

Thicker for the knowledge — the *knowledge* — that they'll make it easier for him. 

That they'll both do *anything* — short of hurting Porthos — to make it easier for him. 

Being hard is almost an afterthought — definitely something to push behind himself for now, for these moments when he's tucking Porthos in, and kissing him with Amina — 

Jason doesn't kiss Porthos, yet. 

He presses down on Porthos's chest through his smallclothes when Treville moves aside — 

The room *fills* with shadows — 

"There," Jason says quietly. "Now absolutely nothing will get in here without our knowing it." 

"Are one of those shadows going to attack a chambermaid?" 

"Not... attack..."

Amina laughs hard. "You'd better hope you *pay* everyone enough, my husband. The little bonuses you give the kitchen boys —" 

"And the stable boys, Amina-love —" 

"— won't be *enough*, anymore," she says, shaking her head at him and lolling her tongue — 

Dancing back and back through the door — 

Panting and laughing and the effect is so *strange* with the smoked glasses —

So *wonderful* — 

He takes Jason's hand — 

"Amant —" 

— and pulls him *with* him — 

Jason laughs softly as they follow Amina down the hall past Treville's bedroom — 

Back down the stairs — 

Out to the front rooms — 

The foyer — 

Outside in the fresh, high moonlight — 

"Did you have a parsnip field you wanted to desecrate?" And Jason is still laughing —

But his Amina-love is dancing in the air, and taking off her dress — 

But not the jewellery — 

Not all the rings — 

"Each one sings 'my husband', 'my husband', 'my husband'!" 

Treville growls — 

"I feel the *precise* same way about my root," Jason says — 

"As you *should*," Amina says, and leads them to the carrot field, and really, Treville's having any number of *terrible* thoughts — 

"Amant, if you try to bugger me with a vegetable, I'll curse it and make you eat it while it *screams*." 

Treville winces — 

Puts that dream away — 

*Forever*.


	8. They need this, too.

Jason laughs *hard* — 

And Amina snaps at him from too far away — 

Snaps and *grins* — 

"That's a mixed *message*, Amina-love," Treville says, and starts to strip at speed — 

"You're reading it *perfectly*, from what *I* can see." 

Treville grunts — 

"And Jason..." 

"Yes, Amina...?" 

Amina dances on the air, closer and closer — not close enough to touch. "We could bugger *him* with the carrots?"

Treville trips on his sock — "I —" 

"We *could*, at that," Jason says, and hums thoughtfully — 

"I have some objections to —" 

"We don't *care*," Amina says, and, suddenly, four *massive* carrots are tugging themselves up out of the earth. 

And... aiming themselves at him. 

And *moving*. 

*Suggestively*. 

Treville is, abruptly, less eager to open his trousers. 

Jason grins evilly — and Treville's trouser-laces *split*. 

"*Hey* —" 

Amina claps and growls. "*Off*!" 

And that — Treville pants. "I can't say no to you. Not ever," he says, and strips fast, *fast* — 

Turns to Jason — he's still glamoured and starting to pull back into his shadows. 

He — "Jason, get that glamour *off*."

"I — amant, are you — *Amina* —" 

She's doing *something* that's making his glamour *melt* — 

"Why the bloody hell do you think we pulled you *out* here with us?" 

And Jason stares, looking back and forth between them — 

Jason's hand is *shaking* on the root on his wrist, and that — 

"*Feel* it, brother. Feel how much I mean *exactly* this," Treville says, and tosses his breeches aside, moving close — 

Cupping the back of Jason's neck — 

Stroking the soft hair there — 

Jason shivers and *grips* the root — "Fuck — *fuck*," he says, shuddering and laughing. "A moonlit field, witches, breaching the borders between life and death... I haven't been *invited* to a party like this in *centuries*." 

Amina snorts and coaxes Jason's hair out of its tie. "But you've shown *up* to a few anyway?" 

"Usually with a rather different weapon to *hand*," he says, and — finally — drops his glamour. 

His armour. 

Amina barks a laugh. "If you think of it as a weapon, you are already doing it *wrong*, old brother!" 

Jason laughs and *whips* his hair out long and *longer* — 

He *catches* Amina by it — 

Treville grunts — "You didn't tell me you could do that." 

"I was saving it for a special occasion," Jason says, shivering and shivering and *hauling* Amina close — 

She croons and wraps her arms round his neck — "Kiss me!" 

"Shall we tease our husband...?" 

"*Brutally*," Amina says, and Treville can see the *flash* of her meanest smile — 

The brush of Jason's mouth against hers — 

The ripple of *power* between them as they both *suck* — 

And then Amina floats them *high* into the sky — 

"Hey —" 

And Jason's hair whips round them both *impenetrably* — 

"You *arseholes*!" 

And their laughter is all through him, all — 

But so are Amina's moans, Amina's hungry moans as she *takes* from Jason — 

And Jason's hungry moans as he allows himself to be *fed* on. It — 

Treville growls and *opens* himself to MOTHER — 

Feels HER joy to have him back again, have him close, have him *there* — 

SHE fills him and fills him and he's hard, needy, *rock*-hard and *dripping* — 

He *reaches* for the root on Jason's wrist — 

(*Fuck* —) 

And then Amina and Jason all but *slam* back down in front of him, Jason reeling and groaning and — 

"Bound, the word is *bound*, amant —" 

"Do you *resent* it?" And Treville yanks them both close by his pull on Jason — 

"Not if you'll always use it just like — *mmph* —" 

And kissing Jason is the same heat as always, the same rush, the same wild and *massive* ride — but this time it's *flavoured* with Amina, her scents, all of her scents, every time she's teased her cunny instead of just tossing herself off — 

Every time a man has gotten her *started*. 

They'll finish the job. 

Treville breaks the kiss and turns to her, crushing her body to his own so he can feel all her *rings* — 

Feeling the *massive* draw of her power — 

He kisses her fast, hard, sweet — 

So sweet and *hard* — 

And he tugs Jason's hair around them, too — 

Jason laughs and mouths at the back of Treville's neck — (Greedy, *greedy*...) 

That's *right*, he says, and cups Amina's big, round arse while he kisses her — it had apparently never gotten much smaller again after her pregnancy, and that's every right thing in the *world* — 

She laughs in his mind, raucous and high — 

She laughs into the air when he kisses above the bangles on her throat — 

The draw of her power is *huge*, wild, reeling — 

And MOTHER is there, MOTHER is filling him, MOTHER is studying Amina through him — 

**SHE IS YOUR MATE.**

And then Treville is on the ground. 

Flat. 

Quiet. 

Moderately pained — 

Jason is panting on his *knees* — 

Amina is blinking and stumbling and covering her *ears* — 

The carrots are shivering — 

And Treville is giving another, thorough debriefing. This time, about his romantic life. 

MOTHER asks him to repeat himself a few times. 

MOTHER asks him if Reynard should be a dog — Treville promises to ask him. 

MOTHER tells him to do that soon. 

MOTHER wraps a giant *tree* *around* Amina —

Treville can hear her *screaming* — 

**STOP WORRYING.**

Treville is flat again, but — 

**STOP.**

He stops. 

He can't do anything but. 

He can't — 

And then there's a sound *exactly* like a tree being cracked apart from the inside — 

A smell of *thick* green and sex and woman and — 

And. 

Amina. 

Not the dreams of her.

Not the *thousand* dreams of her, but — Amina. 

Bleeding, here and there. 

Frightened. 

Shocked. 

*Powerful* — 

*Thrilled* — 

Scrabbling — scrabbling? — close —

And then there's a cold, wet nose pressed to his mouth — 

And his cheek — 

And his *eye* — 

The dog pulls back and whuffs — 

Yips *impatiently* — 

*Obviously* impatiently — 

And Treville can open his eyes and look up into the round, beautiful, dark eyes of a big, black hound... 

Oh. He swallows. He moans and he — 

"Amina..." 

She yips again, licks him — 

*Leaves* him — 

"Wait —" 

"Don't be greedy, amant; it was clearly my turn," Jason says, shaky-voiced and amused and *happy* and... somewhere over there. 

Treville works on getting upright again — 

"No, no, stay down there. That's *precisely* where this beautiful hound and I are going to fuck you." 

Treville drops right back down — 

Amina yips and yips and — laughs, obviously shifting. "Do not make our husband *lazy*, Jason," she says, and drags Jason back over by the wrist. MOTHER has left her all her rings — except, oddly, the smoked spectacles — "The 'smoking' was dead souls, my husband. The All-Mother did not approve." 

Treville opens his mouth — and closes it. 

And Jason laughs richly and nuzzles Amina's neck, making her necklaces jingle. "Naughty girl." 

"If I was going to be *dead*, then I was going to be a *Queen* of the Dead, old brother," Amina says, looking at *him*... and offering her full, scoop-shaped breast. 

Treville rumbles and rumbles and — "I miss your milk. Please come *down* here." 

"*I* think," she says, "that I should sit on your *face*, my husband." 

Treville's cock jerks, spattering his belly and the MOTHER — 

He *growls* — 

Amina pants and flushes in the moonlight —

Her heart is pounding fast, *fast* —

Treville can smell that the few wounds she'd taken from bursting out of the tree have healed — 

That she's perfect all over, perfect all through — 

And — worried? 

Hesitant? 

Treville croons a question and starts to sit up again — 

"No! Stay down!" 

He stays, he stays, but — "Amina-love, please, tell me, tell *us*, what's wrong..." 

She laughs then, bright and high, reaching back to *squeeze* Jason's hand and then kneeling down in the dirt beside him. "Nothing. Nothing's wrong, and I'm... catching up..." 

Jason kneels down behind her. "That can take some time..." 

"*Yes*!" 

"... if you let it," he says, and tilts her head to the side before sucking a hard, slow, *wet* kiss to her throat — 

"Ah — *ahn* — *oh* —" 

And Jason's hands are on her breasts — 

And Jason's shadows are *yanking* Treville close — 

Jason licks up to her ear — "I believe you told me... mm." He kisses her ear — 

"Please —" 

And kisses her ear again, and again — 

"Oh — fuck —" 

"I believe you told me that I was too smart to waste *time*, Amina," Jason says, and unrolls *his* tongue — 

"Ah, *shit* — you —" 

Jason licks her *everywhere* he can easily reach with that tongue — and Treville has her by her long, strong thighs. He — 

"Amina...." 

She moans and spreads her knees, moans and offers herself, her scents, her wonderful — 

Jason *squeezes* her breasts gently. "Should we move you, Amina? Place you over our husband's —" 

"Yes, yes — oh, I don't know —" 

"You *do*," Treville says, growling and lifting her by the hips — 

Rolling over onto his back — 

And Jason and the shadows help to guide, help to — 

Ah, fuck, she's dripping on his *face* — 

She's — 

So hot, so hot and wet and — 

Treville *snarls* and pulls her down, smothers himself with her, takes her *that* way just for a moment — 

She *screams* — 

He nuzzles, nuzzles, breathes as much as he can — 

Growls and nuzzles more — 

She *bounces* on his face — 

He has to turn his head a little to make his nose stop complaining — 

"Ohn — oh — my *husband*!" 

She liked that — she — 

"Of course I liked that! You — oh, you — oh, *please*!" 

And she can still *hear* every *word* — Treville growls and *bucks* — 

And there's a shadow right there to caress his cock, squeeze it, *work* it — 

Treville *barks* mid-nuzzle — 

Amina *bounces* again — 

Treville's nose may never be the same, but this — 

He doesn't actually care — 

Jason laughs. "Terribly sorry about that, mon amant —" 

He really doesn't care — 

"Still," Jason says, and pulls his shadow *away* — 

Treville *whines* into Amina's cunt — 

"— one must show restraint..." 

Amina *grinds* against him and *sobs* — 

Treville groans and flails and licks and licks and — 

"Yes! *Yes*, my husband!" 

And Jason is there, right there, holding his hand — 

Holding both of his hands — 

His *wrists* — 

Treville bucks into *nothing* — 

Treville *slurps* at Amina's cunt as she grinds again — 

Amina *yips* — 

Jason is straddling his *chest* — 

"And slipping my cock between your wife's arsecheeks..." 

Treville barks *helplessly* — 

Bucks *twice* — 

And Amina *bucks* and laughs — "Do — do you want to *feel* that, my husband?" And she *grinds* again — 

Treville whines and *sucks* at her cunt — 

She cries *out* — 

Jason *grunts* — "She's *sweaty* here, mon amant. My cock is — is *juddering* in her cleft —" 

Treville shares the feel of his knot *throbbing* —

His cock flexing and flexing and *dripping* — 

"Oh... oh..." And Jason laughs through a moan. "Now I'm making her *slick*..." 

Treville groans and licks and licks — 

Amina *whimpers* — "Oh, yes — oh, *yes*, you good boy, you good *boy*, *lick* me!" 

Treville tries to reach for her, to grip her hips — Jason still has him by the wrists. 

"That's right, mon mari —" 

Treville *barks* again — 

And Jason laughs darkly, *hungrily* — "I *have* you —" 

"*We* have you," Amina says —

"You're not going *anywhere*," Jason says, and squeezes Treville's wrists *tight* — 

"You are *ours*, Amina says, and grinds and grinds and — 

Treville gasps and gets nothing, nothing but *her* — 

He writhes — 

He *aches* and *laps* — 

"You'll touch what *we* decide you can touch, mon mari," Jason says, and brings Treville's hands to Amina's sweat-slick flanks — 

Treville tries to *clutch* — 

And Jason yanks his hands away again — "Bad dog. No treats for you," he says — 

And Amina laughs *viciously* and kneels *up* — 

Drips and drips on Treville's face, but — 

But he can't *reach* — 

"*Please*! *Please*!" 

"Will you be a *good* dog, my husband?" And Amina is breathless, hungry, needy and *mean* at once — 

"Fuck, I'll be the *best* fucking dog!" 

Jason pants — 

Amina licks her lips — 

"I'd like to give him the chance to prove that, Amina..." 

"Me. *Too*," she says, standing and moving *away* — 

Treville groans — 

"She's *presenting*, mon mari. The shift is... *thrumming* through her — I can't hold you back from this —" 

"Fuck me *into* her!" 

Jason groans — 

Flushes — 

Shakes his head as he pulls back — 

"No? You don't want that?" 

"I want everything, mon amant, mon mari, I want — I want everything starting *with* that — " 

"Yes? Are you *certain* —" 

And Jason whips his head round — 

Releases him — 

"Amina, Amina —" 

"Jason, what is it?" 

"Let *me* taste you, let me — it's been — I haven't had a woman in so *long*, and not one — not one I *cared* for —" 

"Come *here*," Amina says, from where she's — 

Oh, she's *rippling* with the shift, hound showing through her sleek, human-looking skin even as she rests down on her knees and elbows, head down and arse *up* — 

Treville *throbs* — 

"I — I don't want to make our husband *wait*, Amina —" 

"He will *not*. He will come put his cock in my *mouth* —" 

Treville grunts and *moves* — 

They're laughing at him, laughing so brightly, so wonderfully — 

So *alive* — 

And Treville knows his cheeks are wet, but he doesn't care, he doesn't — 

No, he cares, he cares about everything, he cares about all of this, he — 

He sinks to his knees in front of his wife even as Jason sinks to his knees behind her — 

"Oh — *fuck* — I can smell both of you — all of us — I can —" And Jason growls and dives *in* — 

Jason moans, muffled and hungry and — 

And Amina's face is almost blank with lust, almost — 

Amina's eyes are *wide* — 

*Black* — 

And then she *narrows* them — 

Bites her lip — 

She hangs her head and starts to *rock* — 

Treville can't — 

He doesn't know how he's going to be able to *do* this without being able to see her *face*, without — 

He lifts her chin — 

She's panting now — 

She's — 

She's grinding back and back, just like she was doing on Treville's *face* — 

Her eyes are *wild* — 

She's *crooning* — and then she stops — 

Gasps — 

*Howls* — 

And Jason shares the feel of pushing his long tongue deep, *deep* — 

Oh... 

She's squeezing her eyes *shut* — 

She's howling *again* — 

Jason is *fucking* her with his tongue — 

And Treville can't help petting her, stroking her, touching her perfect face — 

So dark — 

So dark and *beautiful* — 

He brushes over her broad, soft, *bitten* lips — and she *sucks* his fingers into her mouth — 

She sucks and bobs her head and — 

And her eyes are *pleading* — 

Her *scents* are pleading, hungry, *needy* — 

The shift is roiling through her faster — 

More *insistently* — 

(You *know* what she wants, mon mari...) 

He does. 

He *does*, and he's leaking all over himself and the (MOTHER) ground for it.

He's —

And there's a growl all through them — 

Snaps and snarls and *frustrated* need — 

A lack of *words* — 

I — I know what you *want*, Amina-love — 

(Don't — don't deny me! Don't deny any —) And the rest of that is more growls, more animal, more — 

So *wild* — 

"Oh — fuck — *never*!" And Treville slips his fingers out of Amina's mouth and grips himself, careful of his needy, desperate knot, careful, *careful* — 

And then Amina lets her tongue loll — 

And Treville has to *squeeze* his knot — he barks and barks — 

She croons — 

(As an aside, I plan to *change* my plans not at *all* should one or both of you shift,) Jason says. 

Good to *know*, Treville says, and gives Amina the tip of his cock, so — 

So *slick* — 

She laps and laps — 

Pauses — 

He croons a question — but she's already curling her long tongue *around* him — 

*Pulling* — 

Treville grunts and *thrusts* — 

And thrusts — in — 

She croons and croons and *slurps* him in, humming and moaning and licking him all around — 

Lapping and curling that tongue and —

And Treville's never felt — 

Jason's tongue is too *thick* to do this, and when Treville is licking himself, he's usually too much the dog to really — 

Really — 

But Amina has him, Amina *has* him, and she's *working* him with her tongue, loving him — 

Loving him so — 

And then Treville *realizes* that she's duplicating, as best as she can, the sorts of things that *Jason* is doing to *her* — 

That she's — 

They they're both — 

Treville groans and cups her face — 

She looks up at him with a wild, bright, amused, hungry, *needy*, *wild* expression in her eyes — 

So full — 

So — 

The eyes themselves shift rounder and darker before going back to human again — 

The hair brushing his thumbs becomes more sleek and — and *looser*-curled — 

She — 

Treville *thrusts* — 

She croons in her *chest* — 

Cups his bollocks — 

Squeezes her eyes *shut* again — and shares the feel of Jason *torturing* her pleasure-button with just the tip of his tongue, teasing and playing with it, making her flex and shake and *shake* — 

Making them all *groan* — 

But then she *squeezes* Treville's bollocks and he has to thrust — 

Thrust again, thrust deeper, so much — 

Make her gulp him *down* — 

(Ah, *fuck*, I can *feel* —) 

And then she shares the feel of Jason *fucking* her with his tongue again, fucking her hard, fast, *vicious* — 

She's spreading her legs for it — 

She's *dripping* — 

They can all *feel* it — 

The earth is *glowing* as SHE takes all their juices — 

Amina *squeezes* him again — 

Her hand is *shaking* — 

Treville can smell that she's *close* — 

That — 

Oh — oh, fuck, he'd missed those scents, those *particular* — 

He roars a growl and fucks her, *fucks* her, grips the back of her neck and holds her still and *fucks* her , and he knows Jason is doing the same, can taste it, feel it, smell it — 

*Feel* it when he works two long fingers into her sopping cunt next to his tongue — 

She *howls* around Treville — 

Everything in her mind is color and feeling, rush and *feeling* as she rocks back and forth between them and takes them, *takes* them — 

She's so *close*, and he wants her spend, wants it all over him, all over his face, his body, his *cock* — 

She screams — 

He's chopping it right *up* — 

And Jason shares the feel of her clenching up tight, *tight* around his fingers and tongue, clenching again and again as she spurts — 

Oh, as she spurts on his *face* — 

Treville growls and keeps fucking her through it, gives it to her, gives her *everything* — 

She's jerking and choking a little — 

He pulls out just enough for her to *gasp* — 

She still *sucks* him — 

Oh, Amina, *Amina* — 

And then she *slumps* — 

Pushes Treville *back* with her power — not far. Treville croons a question and *squeezes* his cock to keep it from rebelling — 

"Switch *places*, my husbands!" 

Jason grunts and looks like he's about to fall *over* — 

But, well, Treville isn't doing much better. 

They manage to get into position *anyway* — 

"Now, remember, Jason, this is the part where you're supposed to put your cock in —" 

"You're not going — going to have such a smart mouth when you actually look *down*, you arse," he says — 

Treville does — and. She's wet, she's *wet*, she's wet all over, and Treville can't not touch her, stroke her, pet her inner and outer lips, moan helplessly and suck her juices and Jason's spit off his fingers and pet her *more* — 

She laughs and *groans*. "My — my sweet *husband*. My easily — easily-distractible — oh, *fuck* —" 

"Is he touching you in just the right ways, Amina?" And Jason is searching her *hungrily*. "Should I demand that he share this, too?" 

She growls and *grips* Jason's cock by the base — 

"Ah, *fuck* —" 

She *swallows* him — 

"*Amina* —" 

She moves her hand and swallows the *rest* of him — 

Jason *shouts* — 

"I don't think you're making any demands anytime soon, lover," Treville says, grinning and pushing three fingers deep into her cunt — 

She croons in her chest — and spreads her knees wider — 

Shows herself — 

*Gives* — 

"Oh... fuck —" 

"What. What's that, mon mari? Something — something arseholish and *teasing*?" 

Treville laughs breathlessly — 

(Get *in* me *now*!) 

— and follows *orders*, because *Amina*. He pulls his fingers out and sucks *them* while he grips himself with his other hand, while he pushes *in* — 

Oh — 

Oh, hot, *hot*, and like this, he can tell that the other was an illusion, a *powerful* illusion, a dream built by a powerful *woman* — 

This is real. 

This is *everything* real — 

This is — 

Oh, he's shoving *deep*, so — 

And Jason is, *too* — 

And they have each other's rhythm so quickly, so hungrily, so needily — 

Amina digs her fingers into the MOTHER, digs her *toes* in, rocks and rocks and *takes* them — 

She — 

She's saying 'yes', over and over — 

Yes and yes and *yes*, and it's a song, a drumbeat, waves from an ocean dragging him *under*, because *yes* — 

Fuck — 

Fuck, *yes*, because she's so open around him, so ready, Jason had made her so *ready* — 

She's so slick and sleek — 

So — theirs. *Theirs*, and she's working between them with such muscular force, animal and sweet, animal and wild, rough, *powerful* — 

Treville *claws* her back — 

She *slams* back against him, clenching *hard* — 

Treville *yips* and bucks and bucks and *bucks* — 

Amina *howls* around Jason's cock — Jason chokes it off, flushing deep and dark and panting with obvious helplessness, obvious *need* —

"I haven't — I haven't — let myself *go* — like this..." 

"*Do* it, Jason —" 

Jason *groans* and cups Amina's face, fucks her hard, fucks her so — 

And they've lost each other's rhythms again, they've — 

They're moving so roughly, so — 

Treville grips Amina's hips and *stops* her, holds her still, *fights* her still — 

She's growling around Jason's *cock* — 

"Fuck — oh, *fuck* — I can't *stop* —" 

"*Don't* stop," Treville says, counting off and catching Jason's rhythm again, rough and fast, rough and *fast*, and now he can let Amina do what she wants, what she *needs* —

(You! I need — both —) And she's growling inside, groaning and losing as much of her mind as they are, sweating and rank and hungry and — 

So close — 

So *close* — 

And Jason *shouts* again, grinding his hips and sharing the feel of Amina's claws *raking* over his arse and hip — 

The scents of his blood flowing make Treville *slam* in, *in*, forcing his knot most of the way in with one *thrust* — 

Amina *howls* again — 

And Jason *chokes* it off again, rutting in and in and in, short strokes just like him, just like him, because Treville can't stop now, can't resist, can't *stop* — 

He has to give it to her, give her everything, fill her up, plug — 

Her — 

*Tight* — 

And Jason pulls out for just long enough for Amina's sob to make it out into the air — 

And Treville's knot flexes *violently* as it pops *in* — 

And they *all* hear Amina's scream as it *echoes* through their heads, all the way, all the way, yes — 

Yes — 

*Yes*, and Treville can't think, can't focus, can't do anything but *cover* Amina, bite her shoulder and cup her breasts and *rut* — 

Squeeze her breasts and *rut* — 

Listen to Jason roar like a wildcat and *rut* — 

Rut and rut and — 

And the scents of Jason's spend are perfect, correct, and everything Amina doesn't take, MOTHER will, everything — 

Everything, and they can all be this hungry together, slurping up sweat and spend, rutting, *rutting* — 

He won't *stop* — 

There's a *hum* in Amina's head now, a — a *building* roar that's all about how she's taking this, his knot, his cock, his *everything*, and Treville can feel her start to drool — 

But now Jason is moving, laughing, so gently amused, and Treville can bite Amina's *neck* above the necklaces — 

Hold her, *hold* her — 

She *croons* — 

She clenches *hard* — 

He *slams* in, and she sobs and clenches *harder* before spurting all over him, all *over* him, good girl, good *girl* — 

Perfect — 

So sweet-hot-slick all over him, all —

He never wants to *stop* — 

"But I believe you had a request," Jason says, and there are shadows sliding *right* up Treville's *arse*, silky and smooth this time, silky and *hot* — but never hot enough — 

Treville breaks the bite to *gasp* — 

And the shadows are getting bigger and bigger — 

"Oh — oh, *fuck* —" 

The shadows are spilling that hot, strange slick that relaxes him despite himself — 

"*Please* —" 

The shadows are *reaming* him even as he ruts, even as he dips his head to nip and bite again —-

The shadows are stretching him wide, stretching him *fast* — 

Treville groans and keeps rutting, keeps — 

He can't stop — 

He can't bloody *think* of stopping, not when those shadows are working him open so sweet, working him open so perfect — 

Making him slick and ready and — 

And Jason shoves two fingers in, too — 

Treville barks and groans — 

Treville yips and yips and *groans* — 

"That's it, mon mari, take it all..." And Jason sounds so *hungry* as he *stuffs* Treville — 

Stretches him so — 

"You were *made* for this, my husband," Amina says, moaning happily, rumbling, almost *purring* — 

Treville has to drop his *head* for it — 

Lick her *more* — 

Lap at her as Jason crooks his fingers — 

He *sobs* — 

His body *knows* what's coming already — 

His body is already *prepared* for this — 

He flexes *open* — 

"Good *boy*," Jason says, slipping his fingers out — 

Sliding his thick cock *in* — 

So *soon* — 

Treville *howls* — 

He — he *freezes* — 

Jason is so *hot* inside him — 

Amina is so hot *around* him —

And Amina turns her head and shows her *evillest* smile. "We *have* you, my husband. Will you beg for mercy...?" 

Treville gasps and flexes and clenches and gasps *more* — 

Jason swivels his *hips* — 

Treville *grunts* — 

"Will you, mon mari...? It's a simple question..." 

Amina clenches *meanly* — 

"UNH —" 

"*Answer*, my husband..." 

"I — I —" 

"Yes...?" And Jason licks the sweat from Treville's temple. 

"*Fuck*, no," Treville says, laughing hard and starting to *work* himself between them as much as he can — 

As much as his body will *let* him, fuck, Jason is *huge* in him — 

So hot, so big — 

So *much* — 

And Amina is *swelling* around him — 

And his knot is swelling *in* her, even though he hasn't *spent* — 

And — and they're all hissing and groaning, moving slowly, moving *hard*, because sometimes that's easier than the alternative, sometimes gentle is excruciating when you're this close to the *edge* — 

"Yes — yes, that's just it," Jason says, panting and *grinding* into him — 

Again — 

*Again*, and Treville is panting, crooning, giving himself to it, letting himself be *ridden* into Amina — 

One thrust after another — 

One *push* — 

"I — I think..." And Amina is panting, too. "I think you can do *better* than this, old husband..." 

Jason's growl comes from everywhere, all *around* them — including the earth, this time. "Ah — ah, fuck, how you *claim* me," he says, and thrusts *hard*, shoving Treville *in* hard — 

Amina *shouts* — 

Pants — 

"*Again*!" 

And Treville is groaning and nodding, clutching them both, drooling on Amina and biting her *again* — 

Jason thrusts — 

Jason *thrusts* — and then Jason is fucking him, fucking them both, and making Treville rut again, again, *again*, and it's so good, so sweet, so — 

So *drugging* and sweet, like at any moment he'll drift off on a dream of fucking and being fucked — or not that — 

Or *maybe* that, because he's *had* that, and he knows it's bloody possible, and possible to have it be just that good, just that — 

That *right* — 

That *meaningful* — 

"*Yes*, my husbands, *yes*!" 

And Jason is groaning and gripping at them both, stroking them and *licking* Treville, stroking them and fucking in — 

*In* — 

"I *need* you," Jason says, and he's talking to both of them, all of them, the whole *pack* — 

He's desperate and hungry and confused in his longing, but Treville can make it better, he can clutch Jason back and promise endless long nights just like this, one combination or another, one combination or many, one combination or all of them at *once* —

And Amina is laughing and gasping beneath them — 

Taking them both — 

Taking them *all* — 

And Jason is sharing his *exquisite* pain for fucking this soon after spending, and Treville can't help but think of how it will feel to spend through his *achingly* swollen knot — 

And Amina *laughs* more — 

And Jason changes his angle — 

And Amina starts clenching rhythmically — 

And Jason starts fucking him fast, fast and hard, fast and — 

And Treville loses all thoughts of helping, of — 

Of anything but his throbbing knot and his needy pleasure-button and the way his wife and his husband are working them, using him, *having* him — 

He howls — 

He ruts and ruts and —

He can't control — 

He can't control his own *body*, he can't — 

Jason and Amina are moving him, working him — 

He *howls* — 

He can't — his voice cracks — 

"*Fill* me, my husband. It is *past* time for you to give me babes..." 

Treville grunts and *freezes*, skin prickling all over with fresh sweat and knot pounding with his heartbeat — 

"Oh, no, mon mari," Jason says. "You don't get to stop for that..." And he laughs breathlessly and *pounds* him — 

He — 

"*Fill* me!"

Treville grunts and starts to spurt, jerking and groaning for the sweet pain, for the sense of trying to force something large through a very small hole, for the way he can't help it, the way he can't help still rutting, still giving, still *trying* to give a halfway decent *performance* — 

And then Jason cups his hips and rides him more, *more* — "Just take it, take every — oh, mon mari..." 

Treville sobs and collapses over Amina, clutching at the carrot-shoots with one hand and her breast with the other and — taking it. He can do that. He's qualified for that. 

He buries his face in Amina's throat and breathes, just breathes, as his knot keeps swelling and Jason keeps *riding* them. 

Eventually, he can work his free hand back to Amina's sex and play with *her* pleasure-button a little, taking her barely-coherent instructions as the gospel they are. 

After a few minutes, she cries out high and sharp — and then yips, over and over and over, as she spurts all over Treville again. 

Treville growls and nips her throat — 

"I — look forward — to my own chance to feel that," Jason says, grinding in and in, in and *in* —

Amina croons and croons and — shares images of herself with Jason enjoying her in various ways. It —

Jason growls and — 

And they *all* feel how tight his skin feels, how hot he is, how sleek with sweat, how needy for exactly this, only so much more that it's frightening him, and spending feels like even more of a surrender than usual, even more of a vulnerability —

Treville flexes *open* around Jason. "Give it to us." 

Jason cries out — 

"Give us every chance to *warm* you!" Amina says, and reaches back for Jason —

And Jason sobs and *grips* Amina's hand, *clawing* their flanks with his other hand as he slams in and in and in and — spills, hot and wet and, fuck, just what Treville needs. 

He shares the feeling — 

"Just what we *all* need," Amina says, and wriggles beneath them with a satisfied hum. 

Jason pants — 

Groans and shudders and spills *more* — 

*More* — 

"That's right, Jason. Fill us *up*," Treville says — 

Jason growls and covers Treville, changing the angle fast and sudden and *biting* — 

Treville croons and goes loose — 

(Oh — *fuck*, I'll never stop *fucking* you both at this rate...) 

Amina wheezes a laugh — 

They're *crushing* her —

(You are giving me practice for Kitos!) 

Treville grunts and flexes *hard* — 

(Oh... he's far more civilized than we are, Amina —) 

(I do not *like* civilized —) 

We're training him, Treville says, and fights back most of the images in his head. I promise. He keeps the image/memory of Kitos snarling in his face while fucking him *viciously*...

He shares it with all and sundry....

(Mon mari, you are a man of *excellent* taste.) 

(He *always* has been,) Amina says, and wriggles again, more purposefully —

Treville frowns and pushes up a little, giving her some air. Some. "Are you comfortable...?" 

Treville has her tied *tight*, but... she's given birth. She can probably push him out — 

"You are assuming I *want* to, my husband...." And her smile is sharp and amused and pleased and — many of the wonderful things in the world. 

Jason kisses his ear. "What are some of the others?" 

"Your thick cock up my arse is several," Treville says with a grin. 

Jason makes an annoyed noise. "You should be beaten *just* for not getting yourself buggered all the times you dearly wanted to." 

"There's such a thing as saving oneself for the quality —" 

"Amina?" 

"Which of us is doing something *mean* to our husband? I think it's *my* turn." 

"*Hey* —" 

And she elbows him in the ribs. 

Hard enough to *crack* something on a normal man —

Treville grunts and winces — 

"Be a good boy!" 

"Yes, do, please," Jason says, and licks the back of his neck. 

Treville shivers. "I —" 

"It's not that I don't want to cane you," he says, and licks him *again* — 

"Oh — shit..." 

Amina laughs *hard* — 

"It's only that I don't wish to turn into a ravening beast — or, to be fair, a Laurent — about it *first*." 

Amina snickers — 

"All right, look —"

"At *what*, mon mari? Your entirely *convenient* ability to heal as it relates to your affair with that man...?" And Jason's scents are amused, pleased, *satisfied* — but — 

"Laurent isn't that *bad* — " 

"Compared to *what*, my husband?" And Amina is still snickering. "I have seen all of your memories!" 

"Compared to... to... look, he's been pent up —" 

Amina *and* Jason splutter — 

"We're *working* on that — and we can all work together now!" 

They're still laughing. 

"Look, *you* still owe him more conversation, Jason —" 

"And Amina..." Jason *hums* a laugh. "Amina *did* want to make him *ours*." 

"Oh... *fuck*. Somehow I did not think my words would come back to bite me so *quickly*!" she says, and they laugh *more*. "We will have to be careful, old brother, old husband." 

Jason hums a *question*. 

"*Oh*, yes. If we train Laurent *too* well, our Treville will be *heartbroken*." 

Jason laughs hard. "And I *daresay* Marie-Angelique will send the witchfinders after us." 

Treville *coughs* — 

And Amina *barks* laughter, loud and bright and proud. 

She's here. 

She's — 

She's right here, and she's alive, and she's warm and slick with sweat and spend beneath them —

There's salt on her cheeks from the tears she'd shed while being fucked — 

The musk and tang of her is high in the air, and it isn't a dream. 

It isn't a *dream* — 

Jason inhales with a shudder and pets him — 

And Amina laughs softly, so softly, and turns her head enough that he can see the fresh tears on her cheeks. 

"Amina? Are you —" 

"Promise me, my husbands," she says, and her voice is thick and low and hungry and — human. 

"What — *yes* — *what* —" 

"What is it, Amina? You may *have* it," Jason says — 

"Promise me... that you won't ever let me get away again," she says, and sobs quietly — 

And sobs again — 

And then she's weeping, just — 

Treville clutches her *tight* — 

"Forgive me, mon mari, but I must —" 

"Do it," he says, and Jason pulls out, steady and not *very* slow — 

And there's a *blaze* in Treville's peripheral vision — Jason cleaning himself off. Treville tugs Amina up until they're up on their knees and she's spread over his lap — 

And then Jason comes round to Amina's other side and holds her, just holds her with him, and — 

They stay right there, holding each other tight. 

"I — I shouldn't be *weeping* like —" 

"When's the last time you gave yourself a real *chance*, Amina-love?" 

She shuts it quick, then, and sobs more, and laughs — 

And sobs *more* —- 

And buries her face in Jason's throat and lets go. 

"Thank you," Jason says, kissing her softly as they rock her back and forth. 

They need this, too.


	9. Warmth.

There's a part of Jason this feels perfectly natural to. 

'This' being waiting at his *husband's* *child's* *bedside* with a *blade* so that he can *curse* the child so that he can *touch* the child *freely* — 

There's a part of Jason to which this — *that* — seems like nothing more than the next logical step, and like something which, if they wait any longer to do it, will be overdue. 

Jason knows he's not supposed to look at that part of himself like it's mad. 

Amina looks at *him*. 

Jason's answering look is a little sickly — 

"Do you not *want* to be his teacher?" 

"Of course I want to be — and more than that. You know that. You *know* that," Jason says. 

Amina nods and plants her hands on her hips. Now that she has to rely on the wrap-dresses that Treville had saved for her for all these years, the colours aren't quite as vibrant. The jewellery the All-Mother had provided for her takes care of that problem well, however, and Treville has already ordered in more fabrics — 

And Amina is staring at him. 

And Treville is *watching* her stare at him from closer to Porthos, who truly is the deepest-sleeping child Jason's ever seen — 

They're going to have to work on that for his own safety — 

"*Jason*." 

"I do need — some time. To catch up. I've never asked a *child* to corrupt himself for me —" 

"Porthos has grown up around *witches*, you idiot! He has been bled for ritual after *ritual* since before he was *born*! You *know* this." 

Jason opens his mouth — and closes it. He does know that. 

What with having once been a child raised around blood-mages, himself — 

Among other reasons — 

And he can stop being so — 

He can relax. 

Any moment now. 

"Take your time," Treville says. "Porthos has only been awake for a little while." 

"Oh — fucking —" Jason growls — 

And doesn't flee — 

And clears his throat. And then looks down at the *remarkably* innocent-looking child — 

"*Witch*-child," Amina says. Pointedly. 

Jason coughs into his fist, tries again — "Good morning, Porthos." 

"Good morning, Uncle Jason. Are you making Maman clearer today? Is that why you're shaking and sweating like that?" 

Oh — 

"*Oh* —" 

"Right, no, we do the other thing first," Treville says, and takes the hand Amina isn't covering her mouth with — 

The hand she isn't dashing tears away with — 

"Maman? Why are you crying? And — I can hear you!" 

"That's not all, son," Treville says, and gives Amina's hand to him —

"Oh, but... it's warm? And not... not too *smooth*," Porthos says, and strokes Amina's strong, rough hand — 

Amina crawls onto the bed, finally, weeping freely, and scoops Porthos up out of the covers, squeezing him tight — 

"Maman! But — but how? And how long do I *have*?" 

Oh, well, *that's* something else they've forgotten. Jason touches the back of Amina's neck with his fingertips and balances the scales a little more by giving Amina immortality. The All-Mother had taken nothing from the overwhelming *weight* in Treville's favour, so...

So.

He'll be able to take care of Porthos, too. 

He... 

He'll be able to *continue* the process of giving himself a *family* — 

"Maman! How *long*?" 

Oh — 

Treville sits on the bed, too, and kisses Porthos's temple. "For a long time to come, son. For — your Maman is alive again —" 

"*OH*!" 

"— and we must all give our thanks to the All-Mother —" 

Jason is reasonably sure that that didn't make it through to Porthos, being as how he's making an excited keening sound and kissing Amina all over her face and neck. 

There'll be time enough for that later, especially since *Treville* is opening himself to the All-Mother — Jason can't *not* feel it, with the way they're bound — 

Treville is giving himself to the All-Mother — 

And being thoroughly blessed in turn, given the fact that he looks like he's about to spend. 

And... it's time. 

Jason reaches out through the link in the root — 

And feels himself being *yanked* down and down and down and *in* — 

Well. 

(You had to see that coming,) Treville says, from beside him. 

They seem to be in a cozy little hollow within the — Mother. Which matches well with the descriptions he'd received over the years. 

Still — 

I was expecting more of a chat first.

(You are *remarkably* naive sometimes, aren't you?) 

It's part — 

**YOU WENT AWAY FOR TOO LONG.**

— of... his... something or other. 

Jason has never felt more like parchment in his *life*.

There is no part of him that isn't — isn't *flattened* — 

(You get used to it,) Treville says. 

*Do* you? 

(Absolutely not.) 

*Fuck* — 

**YOUR MOTHERS SEND THEIR REGARDS.**

Oh — *fuck* — thank you — I send them back! 

(You're sounding a little panicked over there, Jason.) 

SOD OFF — I'm not talking to you — MOTHER — fuck —

And SHE *fills* him with waves of amusement — 

Pleasure — 

Curiosity that probably shouldn't feel ominous — 

(Oh, it should.) 

What — 

And then the MOTHER is making him report on the last six hundred years of his — and Etrigan's — *life* — 

The MOTHER is poring over every last sordid *detail* — 

SHE is wringing him *dry* — 

Treville sighs beside him. (I did have a whore like this once —)

FUCK — 

(She *absolutely* knew that I was a teenage buggerer trying to pretend to be anything but — she was about Kitos's size and girth —) 

Oh...

(Is this helping?) 

I'm enjoying the pummeling and wringing more, so, yes. 

(Right, then. She pummeled and wrung me. A *lot*.) 

Yes, this is definitely helping — 

(As it happened, she had something of an unofficial sideline in 'helping confused little boys like me figure out what they really wanted'.) 

Oh, my. Did you enjoy it?

(In that traumatic way. *Kitos* — who was Honoré then — certainly enjoyed watching it.) 

And making you relive it when you least expected it? 

(And making me relive it when I least expected it, yes.) Treville sighs. (She did bugger me with a toy she had, though. After all the pummeling and suchlike. *That* was very nice.) 

Oh, my. 

(Said I was a good sport and bruised pretty, to boot.) 

This is getting a little too exciting — 

(No, you have to expect that with MOTHER; it's what SHE does.) 

Oh fuck — 

(In any event, I'd chosen her in the first place — her name was Clotilde, if you want to look her up —) 

I rather do, but — 

(— because her reputation was that she was *gentle* and *loving* with her custom.) 

Oh. *Like* Kitos. 

(That's *right*. So when he actually showed up to watch her with me... well, I was grateful in more than one way for the pummeling. How about you?) 

Well. 

(Mm?) 

This *already* feels like ill-advised sex with a *deity*, man! 

(That's because it *is*.) 

Oh — fuck — 

**YOU ARE VERY SMALL AND AMUSING.**

And the MOTHER'S laughter is like being lovingly caned by — 

By a god, not to put too fine a point on it, and so, he is both unsurprised and disgusted with himself when he spends like a royal fountain. 

Repeatedly. 

And... repeatedly. 

And repeatedly. 

Once he collapses, the MOTHER continues debriefing him. 

Jason lies back and takes it. 

Treville's laughter isn't precisely *soothing*, but it is companionable. 

It follows him down and down and — 

~

"Why are you down there, Uncle Jason?" 

Jason opens his eyes and grunts — and realizes that he's on his back, on the floor, in Porthos's *bedroom* — 

And Porthos is standing *over* him — 

And Treville is still laughing. 

Amina is, too. 

*Arseholes*. Well. Jason turns back to Porthos. "Well, I was communing with the All-Mother, and She got rather more *vigorous* with me than I could take." 

"What does that mean?" 

"She rogered me *blind*," Jason says, sitting up and smiling blandly while his fellow *parents* *choke* — 

"You can have sex with *gods*?" 

"*Oh*, yes," Jason says. "I don't recommend it. They're rather bigger than we are, for one thing, and —" 

Treville clears his throat — 

"— can be rather painful, and even, dare I say it, *traumatic* —" 

"*Really*?" And Porthos's eyes are wide and round. 

"Yes — glrk —" Jason stops. 

It's what one does, when one of one's fellow parents — Amina, in this instance — puts one in a headlock. 

Jason smiles. Winningly. 

Treville laughs so hard he falls into a crouch *next* to the bed — 

And Amina is growling in Jason's ear. 

Deeply. 

"Maman? What's wrong?" 

Amina stops growling at *once* — but doesn't release the headlock. "I..." 

"Was Jason *not* supposed to teach me about the gods? You always said I'd have to learn!" 

Jason makes a show of studying his nails. 

Oh, his cuticles are just *terrible*... 

Yes, he's going to have to work on them for hours and hours and — 

(You win this round, old brother,) she says, and nips his ear. "I wasn't ready for you to learn *that* lesson... but. Jason did not know that," she says. "We haven't had time to discuss what to teach you *when*, my sweet boy." 

Porthos nods, very obviously tucking *that* away to consider later. "You can teach me anything whenever. I always want stories, Maman. You *know* that*." 

"Yes," she says, and nips Jason's ear again before she moves to sit on the bed. "Yes, I *do* know that. And will *remember* that the next time I feel *protective*." 

Oh... right. They can't be petty about *everything*. "And I *will* talk to you about what to teach Porthos when —" 

"And *how*, old brother. That is most important," Amina says, and smiles ruefully. "You saw how Treville was teaching Porthos? Telling him everything? Telling him the *consequences* of everything?" 

Jason blinks — "That, I imagine, is especially important — yes, I see," Jason says, and moves to arrange himself so that he's sitting on his heels. 

Treville is next to Amina on the bed — 

And Porthos is looking back and forth among them. "There's more? To the lesson?" 

"Oh, yes, Porthos," Jason says, and gestures to the root on his wrist. "The All-Mother is one of the more kind and gentle and *aware* gods there are, and we are all beholden to Her, but the process of communion with Her is still difficult and stressful, as you can see." 

"She told me she wasn't even *done* with you," Treville says. 

"Oh... fuck," Jason says, and shudders. And laughs and focuses on Porthos. "It is *flattening* to be held under the regard of a god. Most gods, truly — even the ones who mean you no harm. Even the ones who want nothing *from* you." 

"Even the ones who just want to give you good things? Like Maman's *life*?" 

"*Especially* those, in some respects. We were all reeling before, during, and *after* that, Porthos. Gods are *bigger* than we are, and... hmm. Perhaps the best way to think about it is this: Have you ever had a toy that was too big and unwieldy for you to play with?" 

"Yeah, when I was little! Almost everything was too big!" 

Jason smiles helplessly. But — "And even though you wanted them, even though they were wonderful, they sometimes knocked you arse-over-teakettle, didn't they?" 

"Oh — and hurt me!" 

"Yes? Your hands, perhaps? Because —" 

"Because I was always trying to stretch my fingers to *hold* the carts that Kalu carved for Yejide for me and it hurt!" 

"Just so! Now imagine this, Porthos," Jason says, leaning in. "The gifts from gods are so big, so all-encompassing, that we are often left struggling and stretching and *hurting* ourselves to *use* them." 

"Oh! All over?" 

"*All* over — and worse, all *through* us. You hurt inside when your Maman was dead —" 

"Yes! All the time!" 

"The richest of gifts from a god *can* hurt *us* that way." 

"But — are *you* hurt that way? Is Maman?" And Porthos's eyes are worried. 

Jason smiles wryly. "We are not. But. We are beholden — we owe our allegiance, our loyalty and *fealty* — to a god who can and will yank us deep within Her if She feels we haven't given Her enough of our time and attention. And that attention is, at times... stressful." 

"And means you have to have sex with — Her?" 

"Just so," Jason says. "Though I daresay you won't have to worry about that for some years —" 

"But I *will*?" 

Jason smiles softly. "She is our god now. There *are* ways around that and even ways *away* from that, but all of them involve a great deal more pain and sacrifice than you will desire." 

Porthos bites his lip. "Will other gods come? And — try to make us be-hol-den?" 

"Not so long as we are aligned with the All-Mother, Porthos. She is among the most powerful of *all* the gods, in *all* the spheres. No one — no one — takes what's Hers."

Porthos frowns and nods, and doesn't say anything for a long time. 

His scents are more thoughtful than troubled, but *his* nose isn't the best in the room — 

(He will need more time to take in those lessons, old brother, and decide which questions to ask.) 

Oh, but — "Porthos..." 

"Yes, Uncle Jason?" 

Uncle — he's going to have to get used to that. He licks his lips. "Please know that you can and *should* ask me *any* question on *any* topic at *any* time for *any* reason —" 

"Oh — and for stories!" 

"And *absolutely* for stories, because I have many, and they're all yours —" 

And Porthos *flings* himself at him — 

Jason *jerks* back — 

Porthos *stops* himself quite nimbly and frowns — 

"Oh, no, no, Porthos, I — it's only — here," Jason says, and offers his bare hand — 

"Are you *sure*? I don't have to touch you —" 

"Yes, you do, my sweet boy," Amina says. "And now we'll teach you how." 

Porthos frowns and touches Jason's hand — and flinches, backing away and scrubbing at his arms. "What's wrong with your skin, Uncle Jason? Are you cursed or something?" 

Raised by *witches* — 

(*Remember* that,) Amina says — 

Treville lolls his tongue — 

And Jason smiles ruefully. "I have a demon sharing my soul, Porthos — I'll have to leave, at times, so that the demon, whose name is Etrigan, can do his own business — 

_I find myself reluctant to miss a moment of this._

I. 

_And, of course, every moment I can leave you speechless, Blood, is balm to my half of our soul._

Jason coughs into his fist — 

And Treville leans forward. "Did Etrigan just have something to say? He put up a privacy-wall." 

"He said... that he didn't want to miss a moment of... this. Our new life," Jason says, and smiles at all of them. Especially Porthos. "You may get to meet Etrigan soon. He's a bit stroppy, but you're used to that sort of thing with Yejide —" 

Porthos nods vigorously — 

"You'll want to mind the magical flames coming out of him most of the time. He's good about not setting the furnishings ablaze, but, well..." 

Porthos stares at him. 

Jason coughs into his fist again. "I need your blood, Porthos. In order to —" 

Porthos offers his arm immediately. 

"All right, we're going to have to have a talk about how much you trust blood-mages who say they need *your* blood —" 

"Maman and Daddy trust you!" And he is... just as indignant as he should be. 

He is five. 

Five. 

"We'll discuss it another time," Jason says, using his shadows to make the slash as painless as possible, even though they'll also make it a bit more disturbing — 

He preserves the cut —- 

"This will bind us, and make us truly kin. We will share the same corruption of the blood that I have, though the All-Mother will likely cleanse you whenever She gets the opportunity —" 

"She did *not* cleanse *me*, old husband," Amina says, and *looks* at him. 

Jason blinks — 

_I thought you hadn't noticed that. This is all intensely fascinating to many of us on the hell-spheres._

I... 

_Exactly._

Treville laughs hard. "Etrigan *didn't* put up the privacy-wall that time. I — all right, brother?" 

Jason feels himself flushing — 

Stares, again, at his family — 

His *family* — 

And it won't be long before *more* family *arrives* — 

Before he'll be positively surrounded, and — 

"*Drink*, old husband," Amina says. "It's time for Porthos's breakfast." 

Yes, yes, it is — 

And he can give Porthos *his* immortality while he shudders — 

Marvel at the massive imbalance *still* present in Treville's favour — 

And think, a little, about what it says about him. What it says that *saving* him could *give* so much to Treville...

Jason's been a positive force, the way he's always wanted — 

Jason has been... better. 

Than he'd thought. 

He strokes Porthos's hair when he can, pulling back and licking his lips — 

Porthos *grins* at him — 

And Jason can't — 

Jason hugs him, just hugs him, and listens to his softly-muffled giggles — 

And feels his husband snuffle into his hair — 

And feels his *wife* nuzzle in against his cheek — 

She kisses him — 

And Treville licks down to his ear — "Come on. We've some roast beast for you." 

"And." He swallows. 

"Mm?" 

"And a home," he says, and releases Porthos, who runs for the door without waiting for any of them. 

"And a home, old husband," Amina says, and hauls Jason to his feet with ease. 

They lean in to kiss Jason softly — 

And Jason can't remember the last time he was this warm in sunlight.


End file.
